


Royale Instinct

by Rising_Phoenix



Series: Royale Instinct [1]
Category: Basic Instinct 2, Casino Royale (2006)
Genre: Adam is a little shit, Adam just can't shut up, Adam's questionable journalism, And Jean is already done with him before they know each other, Breaking Up & Making Up, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Developing Relationship, Eventual Smut, Gay Sex, Hannibal Extended Universe, Happy Ending, Le Chiffre is human, M/M, Not Beta Read, Poker, Prequel, Sassy Adam, Strangers to Lovers, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 37,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22633444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: On an assignment to report on a poker game in Montenegro, Adam expects to be bored out of his mind, to be surrounded by boring people.He does not expect to meet a mysterious man with a blind eye at the poker table.He does not expect to be dragged into a duel of wits between a secret service agent and a criminal mastermind.He does not expect to fall in love.(The prequel to the Royale Instinct one-shots I posted in this series so far)
Relationships: Le Chiffre/Adam Towers
Series: Royale Instinct [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1618213
Comments: 127
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Realart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Realart/gifts), [TuridTorkilsdottir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuridTorkilsdottir/gifts), [Radiumkind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radiumkind/gifts), [MaddieContrary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieContrary/gifts).



“ _You are sending me fucking where?” Had Adam asked when his all too smug looking editor had asked him to come to his office._

_Oh, he had been aware that he would get a chastising that he probably deserved. That he would be punished this way or another. But he had not expected...that._

“ _You heard me,” Jordan had said._

“ _I think my ears stopped working, could you repeat?” Adam had said, his brows furrowing in an already angry and upset way and leaning back in the chair that stood opposite his boss._

_Jordan had raised a brow, the little pig eyes looking in a judgmental way at Adam and the younger man instantly knew that he was about to lose his job for good._

“ _I said you are going to Montenegro to report on a poker tournament that is held there.”_

_Adam nodded once. Twice._

“ _That's what I thought I heard,” he had said. “Montenegro, I don't even know where the fuck that is. And...is poker that game with cards?”_

_Jordan had leaned forward._

“ _Seriously, Towers,” he had said. “After the stunt you pulled this is not the right time to be cute.”_

_Adam had grinned._

“ _Aww, you think I'm cute,” he had cooed. “Why, Jordan, I didn't know you thought that way about me.”_

“ _Towers, you are this close – this close –to get your ass kicked out.”_

“ _And you noticed my ass too,” Adam had added with a wink, causing Jordan to sigh._

“ _No discussion. You're going to Montenegro, or you are never going to go anywhere for any newspaper ever again,” Jordan had hissed. “The Palace is not happy about what you did.”_

_Now Adam's brows had risen almost to his hairline._

“ _What I did?” He had asked, suddenly serious. “I told the truth about Lord Weston, nothing else.”_

_Jordan had sighed._

“ _You asked Lady Weston during a public outing, on which I might add the Prince of Wales was present, if she is aware of her husband's adventures in the Cathedral Club.”_

_Adam had shrugged._

“ _That was a justified question,” Adam had replied. “Lord Weston has been seen having sex with multiple performers and guests in a well-known gay sex club, very publically displayed. For someone whose politics include his very clear position against gay marriage and adoption rights of same-sex couples, someone who called me a dirty cocksucking boy when I confronted him during a press conference, not that he was wrong about that, I do indeed think that his own preferences should be public knowledge. That man is a bigot of the worst kind, and he is doing a lot of harm. His own son tried to kill himself during boarding school. Never wondered why?”_

_A muscle in Jordan's jaw had moved._

“ _Adam,” he had said, using now Adam's first name which is never had done before. “This is not about what you or I think, this is about company politics. In the time of online reports and news zines, we are already doing worse than ever, and now we can sell less advertising space because you scandalized the conservative front. I have no choice but send you out of here for a while. Try to see Montenegro as a vacation, maybe it does you some good to get out of here yourself.”_

_Adam had nodded and gotten up without another word, knowing that his boss was right._

_And he hated when it was not him who was right._

_Montenegro, here I come._

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

And now here he sat, in a taxi with a driver that looked like he either had a daytime job on a pig farm or was going to take Adam out to some shack to either rape him or sell him to the next tourist who was interested in some fresh English ass. Damn, he really had watched Hostel once too much, and he could not help being creeped out by the looks the driver gave him in the mirror, licking his lips and checking Adam out in a way that was definitely not sexy and still left no doubt about the inappropriate thoughts the man had about him. Adam smiled politely back and returned to look at his phone not wanting to give any signals that could be misinterpreted, but had to realize with a sigh that he had not only poor reception but not any reception at all. Not that he would be against a quick romp with a stranger, but hell, he had standards. And this men met not a single one of those.

He sighed and looked out of the window, looking at the facades of the houses they passed.

The town looked clean and calm, surprisingly nice to be honest, something he tried to store in the back of his head to remember it for the article he had to write. On his flight he had tried to read up on the rules for Texas Hold'em and decided that card games just were not his turf. He was a little lost, and he still seriously doubted that he would be able to write a piece that was insightful and entertaining. But then, it was meant for the sports section of the paper and he was by no means a sports reporter and had no idea how to write this article without making a total and utter fool out of himself. And watching a poker game he did not even understand – he could imagine a lot of things that would be a lot more entertaining.

Again, Adam looked out of the window and looked at the royal looking buildings, the remains for a society that had long seized. He imagined that this would be a nice place to go for a honeymoon, lots of romantic places would for sure be found around here, and the horse carriages he saw, of course a tradition that was maintained solely for tourists, gave this an even more old fashioned and romantic look. He had to smile to himself. Marriage. Who even did that nowadays? Still the thought was a nice one, even if nothing that he believed in or would ever experience. Maybe he would add a sentence or two to proclaim this a nice travel destination, after all, he had to fill out a nonsensical article that already made no sense without a word being written yet.

They passed a couple of shops, also clearly intended for tourists and he saw only a few pairs and single people frequenting those shops that displayed campy souvenirs and postcards. The bars and pubs that had outside seating areas though seemed to be a much more popular attraction and he saw while passing pints of beer and plates with steaming and hearty food. That was something he was finding himself more interested in. Not the beer, he did not like the smell, but he was sure he would find a good glass of country wine here to go with some unhealthy selection of pork and vegetables that he would need months for to train off his hips. Worth it though. Life ws too short to not indulge in the things that made you feel good, which was a motto that Adam had started to live by years ago, already during his university time.

Already feeling a little more comfortable in his own skin, Adam smiled to himself and made plans on how to spend the days of his stay, while his evenings definitely would be occupied with that gruesome poker tournament.

Tapping his fingers impatiently on his leg, Adam had to wait only a few more minutes until the taxi turned into the driveway of another large building that almost looked like a palace. Adam looked wide eyed at the several stories high building that held the hotel, and let out an impressed whistle.

He continued to look at the building, stucco ornaments, large gallery windows, baroque architecture, balconies, several flags displayed above the main entrance that held the golden lettering that welcomed him to Hotel Splendide.

The driver, still creepily looking at him, made it an effort to take out his suitcases and suit-bag from the trunk and when Adam payed him, only leaving a tiny tip because creepy stares were not something he would reward, the driver touched the skin of Adam's hand and he almost winced at the touch, while his eyes were already, always curious, checking out the people that left the taxi that had arrived shortly after his own.

It was a couple that had left the black taxi, equal looking to the one that had brought Adam here, and he was instantly admiring how gorgeous the man and the woman looked together. The man was of a stocky, muscular build, not slender but not overly big, and still carried himself with the determination of someone who was aware of his own strength. He wore a short, dark grey, almost black trench coat and underneath a suit of the same color. When he turned a little, Adam saw a white shirt and a tie that seemed to have a certain pattern mixed of blue and white, and emphasized an asset of the man that Adam found truly breathtaking – eyes of the color of the purest aquamarine, so brilliant that he could see the color clearly even though he was several meters away from him. The hair was short and blond, the skin tanned and showed only few crinkles at his eyes. Over all, a very attractive man who pushed all the right buttons in Adam, were he not accompanied by the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, with a low bun of raven black hair and the face of a goddess. Adam raised his brows. The woman he had been attracted to were summing up to an amount he could count on the fingers of a single hand, and even if he was not sexually attracted to her, there was something that made his heart skip a beat and stare at her like a teenager, which made him chuckle at himself.

He turned and went to pick up his two suitcases after shouldering the bag that held his two best suits, bespoke and expensive and something that he needed if he wanted to fit into certain circles without drawing unwanted attention. Though, drawing attention was something that Adam was used to and loved.

He still smirked to himself, thoughts still at the couple that arrived and that was bickering and talking behind him, when he felt the tingle of his sixth sense.

He was being watched, and for a moment he was sure that it must have been still the creepy taxi driver, but when he looked over his shoulder, making the blond man bump into his shoulder when he suddenly stopped, he saw the taxi already driving away.

“Apologies,” he said to the man who only gave him a nod with a smirk and went past him.

So it had not been the driver who was still creeping after him.

But, who then?

Adam looked around and even though there were several people arriving and leaving, nobody paid attention to the lean built Brit with the messy curls who looked like a student who got lost and not the guest of a luxury hotel, wearing tight, leg- and ass-hugging jeans and a dark Henley that brought out his chest in a nice way. Nobody looked at him.

He almost shoved the thought of being watched away, when he tilted his head to look up, and noticed curtains of a room above him moving, a man standing in the gap between the white fabric.

The man, tall, the face a stern mask, wearing a black dress shirt was looking down at Adam, who could not make out more over this distance and the reflection of the window than that he was strangely attractive, though maybe not in a common way, with a face that was different yet beautiful. Then the man raised a hand to wiped something away from his left eye. A tear maybe?

Adam felt a certain pressure in his groin, something that fluttered in his belly, and his open mouthed stare turned into a smirk.

“Well, hello, gorgeous,” he said smiling.

Maybe this trip to Montenegro would turn out a lot more entertaining than he had assumed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are a few changes to the Casino Royale timeline, please be aware that this is not following the movie in every detail.

Adam checked himself another time in the mirror.

He had left the bathroom, and turned around to look another time at him. It would do, the black suit and the black shirt underneath, a simple black tie, no jewelry. He wanted to blend in and not to drag attention to himself.

After his arrival and after bringing his suitcases and bag into his room, small but nice, he had only taken a quick shower and then started to look around and checked the surroundings of the hotel, taking in the appearance of the guests, obviously on the more wealthy side of things, and the hotel itself that seems to bring him back to a different era. He had already made a few notes of things he wanted to mention in his article, had spoken to the lady at the front desk and gotten some information on the hotel's history. After all, he still had not understood half the rules for the game of poker, so he had to fill out his article with descriptions of his surroundings and the experience he was facing.

He thought about the couple that arrived the same time as him, the Goddess and the fellow Englishman, and he was curious if they were part of the tournament themselves and if he would get a good view on the blond's physique that had been mouthwatering, and then he thought about the man at the window. Adam wondered what he really looked like, if he was taller than him like it had seemed over the distance and what color his eyes were.

Adam shook his head and smiled at his reflection. How was it possible that he felt attracted to someone he had not even really seen? And still there was something that made him want to find out which room number the stranger was staying in, find out who he was. Stupid really.

Again, he looked at the mirror and was quite pleased with what he saw. The suit, his second best, was a nice cut and made him attractive but not breathtakingly so, and the black color always brought out his eyes in a way that he would be able to hold someone's attention once it was given to him.

He checked the clock on his phone.

Time to get downstairs and find out what the evening would hold for him.

Time to meet the players.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Le Chiffre corrected the fit off his cuff-links and then rolled his neck, looking at himself in the mirror. Wearing all black, his hair fixed to perfection he wore the perfect mask of composure and control that he would allow his opponents to see. Of course he had run a background check on the people that were important to this venture and he had reacted with amusement how dilettantish the honorable MI6 had worked in hiding who they had sent, the same went for the CIA's assent, Mr. Leiter. Ridiculous really that they even had wasted their efforts in this, while they should have been aware that he would see right through them. Two more figures to play with, not worth his energy or attention.

The boy though.

That was something different.

Valenka had followed his immediate order to find out who he was, and a bribe of a rather small amount of money to the girl at the front desk had told him who had grabbed his attention like that.

Adam Towers. 26. English. Journalist.

He had only seen a lithe figure, small if his calculations had been right, with a mop of brown curls and as far as he could make them out, curious eyes. The picture his publishers homepage had shown him was that of a boy, still not a man, with a delicious jawline and pouty lips. He was almost too pretty and Le Chiffre was still not sure what had taken him by surprise when he had seen him while arriving this morning.

Interesting.

“We are ready,” Valenka said from the door, and he only turned his head a little to look at his as always beautiful companion.

“Coming,” he replied shortly and turned to leave.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam found himself surprised by the security that awaited him when he went to the Salon Privé, being checked for weapons and then had to pass one of those magnetic terminals that would indicate every kind of metal on him. Instead of acting as surprised as he was and a little bit intimidated, he winked at the security guard and then went downstairs, finding that the narrow stairway lead to a large room with an oval gambling table in the center, elevated by stairs, and a bar area at the back. He looked around and followed a blond man – was that the man that arrived with him today? - back to the bar. Maybe a drink would do nicely for starters, and was stopped in his tracks, when the blond was approached by a man in all black, who was busying himself with pulling his cuffs into position. He turned to the blond and looked at him, while Adam stayed behind and listened to their short exchange.

“And you must be Mister Bliss' replacement,” the black clad man said with an accent Adam could not right place, offering a hand to shake to the other. “Welcome, Mister Beach.” He leaned closer. “Or is that Bond? I'm a little confused.”

Mister Beech - or was that Bond? - did not react confused or like someone that was found out. Instead he accepted the offered hand and looked pleased and smiled at the other man, who returned the smile almost playfully.

“Oh, we wouldn't want that, would we?”

The two man smiled for another second at each other – interesting – and then Bond turned towards the bar, while the other turned to the other side of the room and almost bumped into Adam, who gasped and blinked up at the other man.

He was...strangely attractive, even though there was an angry, red scar over his left eye that was clouded and lacked all color while the other eye was of a deep brown, the lips, still curled into the smile he had shown Bond, now smiled at Adam, who blinked again.

And now he recognized him. The man from the window. Oh, he was so much more gorgeous than he had hoped he would be.

“And who do we have here?” The stranger said, the smile showing clearly amusement and something that Adam could not find the correct word for.

“Uhm...Towers,” he said. “Adam Towers. Very pleased to meet you, Sir. Correspondent for WorldNews.”

The stranger tilted his head to the side, taking Adam obviously in, the eyes flicking down, lingering over Adam's crotch, and looking back up with a smirk. Adam felt like a piece of meet at the man's gaze, but not unpleasantly so. He felt strangely warm and...aroused. The butterflies he had felt in his stomach earlier when he only had gotten a glimpse of the mysterious man at the window turning into full grown birds now.

The man offered Adam a hand that he took enthusiastically, feeling suddenly like an inexperienced schoolboy. The skin of the man was cold to his touch.

“Le Chiffre,” he said, the head lowered a little into Adam's personal space, and in his smile was something that Adam could not help but interpret with some sort of promise.

“Le Chiffre,” Adam repeated. “That is a very strange name.”

The man that had called himself “The Number” smirked and then left Adam standing there without another word or an explanation.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Even three hours of utter boredom later, Adam had not the slightest idea how this game worked or what it was about. He had stopped to even try to follow the croupiers moves or the reactions of the participants.

Instead, the exchange between Bond and Le Chiffre had sparked his attention and he, leaning against one of the barstools, a martini in his hand, looked at nobody else but the two handsome men who were so different as day and night, and still seemed to be their equals.

His eyes followed Le Chiffre's every move. Graceful as a dancer, the elegant hands never resting, and his eyes, of which he assumed that the left one was blind, almost always watching Bond's moves. The two men were playing with each other and they ignored almost everyone else at the table.

Only now and then, Le Chiffre's eyes found their way to the bar and found there Adam, who had positioned himself so Le Chiffre would see him every time he looked his way. The legs slender but toned, one finger circling the rim of the glass he was holding, only having eyes for the man with the accent and the blind eye. His reactions were interesting to say the least. He was trying to focus on the game, but found himself more and more distracted by Adam, which he found hilarious. He would have to find out who that man was, but he was losing his facade and that seemed to be something he hated. It could turn out to be interesting to see what would happen the moment the facade would crumble down completely.

Le Chiffre's observant eyes did not leave Adam for more seconds than were absolutely necessary, and he seemed annoyed with that since that meant he lost focus of the game of which the stakes were higher than any monthly wage Adam had ever achieved in one of his jobs. Even as a freelancer he could not make that money, and it was funny to him that he saw this rich man losing money because he was a distraction to him. Oh what fun!

The goddess that had arrived with Bond in the taxi, wearing a purple dress on her amazing figure sat on a stool close to Adam, and somehow he wished he was straight, or even bi, but that did not mean he could not flirt with her. She though had only eyes for the blond man, who indeed was something else with his mesmerizing eyes and large, strong hands. On any other day, Adam would have not hesitated to flirt with him and get him into his bed, no matter if he was straight or not, to his experience no man was too straight to not want a skilled twink underneath him. But today, that strange man in black held all of Adam's attention.

There was some movement at the table, and then the barman who had stood in front of the goddess and Adam approached Bond, leaning down to him to take an order.

“A dry martini,” Bond ordered, but then stopped the barman who started to leave. “Wait. Three measures Gordon's, one of vodka, half of Kina Lillet, shake it over ice then add a thin slice of lemon peel.”

Adam raised a brow. That was elaborate and sounded like something he would love to taste on his lips.

“Yes, sir,” the barman replied with a nod and started again to leave but was now stopped by another man, an older gentleman who played with Bond and Le Chiffre.

“You know, I'll have one of those,” he said, and Adam grinned.

“So will I,” a big black man said.

Adam chuckled openly at the annoyance that mirrored on Le Chiffre's face more and more with every second.

“Certainly,” the barman nodded and went to leave.

“My friend,” the American player at the table then said. “bring me one as well. Keep the fruit.”

Le Chiffre huffed and almost rolled his eyes, seeing from the corner of his eye that the young Englishman who was so openly flirting with everyone close, snickered.

“That's it?” His voice was almost angry at the interruption of the game. “Anyone want to play poker now?”

“Someone's in a hurry,” the American said, smiling and then exchanging a knowing smile with Bond.

Interesting.

What was even more interesting was that Le Chiffre pulled a small platinum item from his pocket and put it to his mouth, taking a drag. An inhaler.

Very interesting.

The game already being interrupted, Bond got up with a: “Would you excuse me?” and went over to the goddess and whispered something to her.

Adam looked at the gaming table at which movement had started and some players took the interruption to either take a break of interrupt the tournament for the evening.

Again, Le Chiffre looked at him. His brown and grey eyes looking right into his blue-green ones. Something connected. Something that Adam could not put his hands on, something he had never known before.

He shrugged the feeling off, sighed and patted his pockets for his phone and then went upstairs, the eyes shortly locking with those of Le Chiffre when he went past him. Adam felt the eyes on him, following his every move and he made sure that the sway of his hips gave away a promise unspoken.

On his way up, he loosened his tie, took it off and put it into his jacket pocket, and on the ground floor he found the back exit that lead to a fenced terrace overlooking the river and fished his phone from his pocket, dialing a number from his contacts and waited a few rings until someone answered his call.

“Billy, you have to do me a favor, you owe me still one after Manchester,” Adam said into his phone. “Yes, yes, I know...Now, take a pen and a piece of paper and write down the following...Yes. I'm waiting... Okay, great. Write down...Le Chiffre. That's it... Yes, I know that that's French. I want to know who that is... Yes, it's a man, he's here and he's...I don't know who he is, and I need to find out. Get me a file on him and send it to my email. ASAP... Thank you, Billy. You are the best.”

Adam took a breath when he hung up and leaned against the cast iron of the balcony railing. Damn himself for having stopped to smoke a few weeks ago, he craved now one of his menthol cigarettes.

“You have been a very naughty boy, Mister Towers,” a voice behind him said and he turned around, looking into the stern face of the man with the mismatched eyes. His cock twitched in his pants, something inside him awakening. “What is to be done about that?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Le Chiffre getting to "know" each other...

The moment Le Chiffre pushed Adam against the opened door, he had the hard doorknob in his back, not that he cared about anything but the taller man's hands on his body and lips on his mouth.

They had started making out in the elevator in which Le Chiffre had dragged him, pushing him against the mirrored wall of the small space without missing a second as soon as the door closed and Adam had immediately started to grind himself against the man whose name he did not even know. And that was another thing he could not be bothered with.

All that mattered was the hot man that was attached to his lips and body, who he was melting into.

Before he knew what happened, Le Chiffre had pushed the jacket off Adam's shoulders and ripped open the buttons of the black shirt he was wearing underneath. Adam praised himself for having foregone an undershirt and that he was blessed with the feeling of Le Chiffre's elegant fingers on his burning skin without anything else in the way. He shivered under the touch and moaned into Le Chiffre's mouth while being kissed within an inch of his life. Had he ever felt this on fire ever before? He was not sure, and decided not to waste further thoughts on this when Le Chiffre was wearing definitely too many clothes.

He tore off the bow tie the stranger was still wearing and noticed that his fingers were trembling when he was starting to open the buttons of his shirt, but finally he was rewarded with a breathtaking, wide chest, covered with thick brown hair he let his spread hands run through, feeling the heartbeat of the other man under his fingers, kissing his jaw, returning to his lips, while he pushed shirt, vest and jacket in one movement off the other's shoulders.

The moment their chests met, both man sucked in a breath, both feeling a jolt of electricity, drawn to each other like magnets, something without sense and without reason.

Le Chiffre opened the buckle of his belt and pushed his own pants down while sitting down at the edge of the bed, looking up to the panting Adam, who stood there unmoving for a moment, while Le Chiffre raised a brow in a silent question, causing Adam to smirk and then do the same and open his dress pants and push them down his narrow hips, leaving only his black boxer briefs on and then stepping closer, between the legs of the older man, who had immediately his hands on his thighs and the let them slip up to his hips.

As if Adam was a doll, Le Chiffre turned him in his hands and pushed him down to sit between his legs, his back against his furry chest. Adam twisted at his waits, Le Chiffre's hands on his hips, holding him there, and turned his head to kiss him again, deeply, swallowing his breath and taste, feeling the oddly curved lips on his like they had always belonged there.

One of Le Chiffre's hands went up his body, touched only shortly his sensitive nipples and then he held the front of his arched neck in the palm of his hand, not quite squeezing but at the same time not leaving a doubt who of them was in control. The other hand moved slowly up his side, light as a feather, making every hair on his body stand up and then went to the front over Adam's flat stomach.

Le Chiffre went back to holding Adam's waist, holding him in place, and then his hand slipped downwards and cupped Adam's groin. Adam moaned and arched back in the arms of the stronger man, grinding his ass against the other man, feeling how hard he had grown himself. He felt Le Chiffre's lips kiss his neck, again only light touches, almost gently, without demand or force, and still his whole body language reassured Adam that he was the one in power. The hard cock pressing against Adam, making Adam certain that the effect of them being so close to each other was not lost to either of them.

While Le Chiffre left no doubt about his control, Adam was still able to escape him for a moment when he stood up and turned, and sank in the same movement to his knees in front of him, pulling down the rest of Le Chiffre's pants and hesitated not a single second before he went down to lick a stripe up the gorgeous cock that was displaced in front of him. He had always been a sucker (Ha!) for beautiful shafts. Long, but not overly so, in the right proportion to the body of their owner, with a certain girth that would make the experience of feeling this specimen inside him at a later time that stretch somewhere between pleasure and pain, something he craved and enjoyed and could never get enough off. Maybe a little curved so his prostate would be in the center of attention and what he had here in his hands, was nothing but perfection. Not that he would have rejected Le Chiffre at this point if his shaft was less than this, but hell, it made it so much more of what he wanted and needed and hoped for.

He nestled the glistening tip with his tongue, pulling the foreskin of the uncut beauty back and then started to suck him in earnest, deep and with his own rhythm, matched to both there fast heartbeats that had already become one. Adam felt Le Chiffre's hand in his curly hair, stroking the soft hair first and then pushing his head down without much force.

Adam though understood the hint and took Le Chiffre further down his throat until he bottomed out, his nose buried in the trimmed pubic hair of the other man, who smelled clean but musky, of soap and masculinity. Le Chiffre used a little more force pushing his head down at the back of his neck, and Adam started to choke a little and realize he was not getting enough air anymore, he gagged only a little, and that was hint enough for Le Chiffre to let him go and Adam let his cock slip out of his mouth. He looked up into the lust clouded eyes of the gambler, a smirk on his reddened lips before he went down again and swallowed Le Chiffre again in one go and making the other man moan and gasp, leaning his own head back, the eyes closed and enjoying the mouth of the younger man on his almost painful erection. Again he put his hand into the messy curls and held Adam's head in place, knowing that it would take seconds until Adam would start chocking and gagging on the thick shaft that was pressed into his throat, but the moment of power, the moment of submissiveness of the other man without giving himself up, aroused him even more.

“You're doing so good,” Le Chiffre whispered. “So good, djalë.”

Adam hummed around him, even if he did not know what that last word means, nor what language it was, but he would find that out for sure. Even though his mind was clouded by desire, he tried to make a mental note about that.

Again, Adam gagged, like Le Chiffre had assumed around him, and again, Le Chiffre pulled him off and this time, pulled him into a sitting position and kissed him instantly on the lips, tasting his own pre-cum on those swollen lips, licking into Adam's mouth and holding him so close that Adam had almost the impression he wanted to devour him completely.

It was Adam who pushed himself out of Le Chiffre's embrace and went down once more, swallowing him to the hilt, licking, slurping and humming, until Le Chiffre's hips jerked slightly, indicating that it was almost too much for him. He bit his lips and closed his eyes, fighting for self control, while again one of his hands grabbed the hair of the younger man and held him down.

Adam felt his vision go dizzy, felt his head spinning at the lack of oxygen, his head turning red, until Le Chiffre let go of him and he gasped for air, licking his drooling lips.

He did not quite notice how, but Le Chiffre moved fast, pushed Adam onto the bed and had him lay flat on his back, the head tilted over the edge and his cock pressing against those lush lips that opened willingly and Adam allowed Le Chiffre to start first slowly then harder fucking his face, caressing the chin of the almost submissive man that grabbed his own erection and started to stroke it lazily, the shaft that was a beautiful as the whole boy was, as painfully erect as his own.

Le Chiffre bent down and held Adam by his hips, kissing the pale skin and then his nose nestled the dark hair that surrounded the base of the cock he was now paying attention to. While still fucking into Adam's mouth, he licked up his length, kissed the wet tip and then swallowed him himself, making Adam moan around him.

Holding Adam, he turned them around so that Adam was on top of them, still continuing to suck and lick, while Le Chiffre used both hands to pull Adam's delicious buttcheeks apart and got a first look at the clean and almost virginal looking hole that was the destination of all his desires. Considering that Adam went down on him like a seasoned whore, he knew that Adam had done a lot more and that he was by no means inexperienced, and still his whole body, the large blue-green eyes and the boyish face, everything around him looked almost innocent, which aroused him to the brink of losing control.

His tongue flicked over the opening that started to quiver under the touch, and made Adam stop sucking for a moment, holding still and waiting for what was to happen next. Le Chiffre had to smirk when Adam let out a curse when his tongue pushed inside him and he started to lick him out, his lips kissing and sucking, opening him up and preparing him for what both knew would come tonight.

Adam's moans grew louder and louder, a sweet song that was as beautiful as an opera to Le Chiffre's ears. A finger pushed inside Adam, next to his tongue, widening him further, another followed and with the scissoring movement that Le Chiffre started, Adam's moans and gasps turned into grunts and small screams, while he pushed his ass back to get more, and he let out a disappointed curse when Le Chiffre pulled out of him.

He was rewarded when they changed together positions and Adam ended on all fours, three of Le Chiffre's fingers in his ass, grinding back, the head hanging low and the hands cramped into the soft sheets of the wide bed. He wanted to beg Le Chiffre to finally move, to fuck him, breed him, make him his whore, when there was first a slight pressure and then a blinding pain of the imminent stretch when Le Chiffre breached him and filled him out completely, fucking him raw.

He only granted him a few seconds to adjust before he started to pull out almost completely only to push back in his whole length inside the tight heat of Adam's body. Within only a few thrusts, Le Chiffre had picked up a hard pace, thrusting into Adam with a harsh and uncompromising rhythm, fucking every breath out of him. Adam thought for a moment that it should hurt, that he should feel used and dirty, but instead he felt wanted and cherished and without delay, he pushed his ass back and fucked himself on Le Chiffre's cock, the slapping sounds of their meeting flesh wet and hard, filling the room as well as the moans and labored breathing of both men.

Le Chiffre's right hand found Adam's throat and grabbing him there, he pulled him up into a graceful arch of his back, making him look up and what he saw took finally his last breath away.

The closet on the other side of the room was covered in a large mirror and he started at two men having sex, watching for a moment the hardcore porn that was happening there before he realized that he looked at himself being fucked by the gorgeous other man whose previously neat hair fell not into his forehead, both their bodies covered in sweat. Held back now by both his arms, restricted, still pushing his own lower body back against Le Chiffre's groin, Adam could not stop staring at the both of them, moving as a unit, as if they had not only met today but had been doing this for years, as if there had never been another lover in both their lives. His own cock was of a deep red by now, glistening wet and leaking a constant stream of pre-cum onto the bed.

Le Chiffre, buried completely in the tight channel that Adam offered to him, only slightly loosened by his intrusion, held still and Adam pushed himself firmer against him, holding still himself, feeling the pulsing heat of Le Chiffre inside him until Le Chiffre pressed a hand against the small of his back and brought him to lie down in front of him without leaving him. Now flat on his belly, held down by the hand on his skin, Adam's manhood was rubbed against the bed while Le Chiffre again started to fuck him with hard and deep thrusts, feeling how Le Chiffre's balls slapped against him.

It was too much.

It was not enough.

Adam wriggled underneath the other man, pulled a leg up and tried to use his knee as leverage to get away from under Le Chiffre, who furrowed a brow, mistaking Adam's attempts as wanting to stop, but instead Adam turned to his back and pulled Le Chiffre down with one hand, kissing him deeply and pulled both legs up so far that he was bend in half, allowing Le Chiffre to penetrate him even deeper and hitting his sweet spot with a precision that took his breaths away for good.

Le Chiffre's thrusts were long and deep, slow and almost gentle now, before he picked up speed again. The pressure inside, on his prostate and the closeness he felt to the other man too much for Adam, he reached down to touch himself, needing release, the eyes squeezed shut and his moans turned into gasps, but Le Chiffre slapped his hand away when he noticed what he was trying to do and when Adam looked at him in confusion he could only smile when Le Chiffre took over and started to stroke Adam himself.

Adam's moans escalated into screams, his hand searching for something to hold onto and finally pulling on Le Chiffre's chest hair, his screams only stopped by Le Chiffre's hand that closed over his mouth. His eyes rolled back in his head, overwhelmed by the mix of feelings that the union with Le Chiffre brought him, and then looked up again when he felt Le Chiffre again kissing him without stopping to fuck into him.

Being pushed over the sheets, Adam's head tilted over the edge and he opened his again shut eyes and looked again into his own flushed face, sweaty and reddened, fucked out and the eyes almost black with lust. Le Chiffre's hand again was closed around the front of his neck, but without pressure, only the threat of overpowering him in the air, his thrusts growing again faster and harder, making Adam scream in passion. Every cell of his body was on fire, his limbs trembling already, and still he was praying that his climax was hours away, not wanting this to end anytime soon.

Changing their balance, like a well oiled machine, they rolled around on the bed until Adam was on top and he sat up, staring to ride Le Chiffre, taking him down all the way inside him, rotating his hips, fast and deep and wild, Le Chiffre again speaking words of encouragement, English mixed with French and another language that Adam did not know, and it turned him on to no limit that this controlled man underneath him was losing control because of him.

He sat down flush on Le Chiffre, grinding his hips, feeling the pulsing cock buried in his bowels and jerked himself.

With a smirk, he lowered his upper body and kissed Le Chiffre, who held him in his arms, pushing up to meet Adam's downward movement, smiling into the kiss. Adam looked into his mismatched eyes, the cloudy one unfocused, but the brown blown wide and filled with such warmth and gentleness, and at the same time with such detemrination that Adam was somewhat moved, almost touched.

But then everything changed.

He felt a rattling breath in the kiss they shared, saw how Le Chiffre's eyes widened slightly in surprise, then in shock. And then there was a wheezing sound, an almost purring sound with a slight whistle. Something not right, something not belonging here.

Adam's eyes widened and with the blink of an eye he was off the man with the scared expression on his face.

“Where is it?” Adam asked him, holding his arm, while Le Chiffre was still on his back, trying to breathe.

“Ja...,” Adam could only make out in the rattling breath.

“Jacket?” He asked and Le Chiffre nodded slightly.

Within a second Adam was off his back, arousal and passion forgotten and scrambled to find Le Chiffre's black dinner jacket on the floor. Why in God's name did they both need to wear black tonight? Panicking he started to shake out every item of black clothing he found and finally the platinum item of his desire fell to the floor. He grabbed the inhaler and almost jumped back onto the bed, kneeling next to Le Chiffre, whose face had turned red in a not arousing way, and held the inhaler out, not quite sure how he had to hold it, but Le Chiffre's trembling hand took his and guided him to his mouth and took a deep breath from the medical device, then another, and slowly he calmed.

Adam let out a relieved sigh, and then smiled down at the man that took more breaths through the inhaler, glad it was working.

He expected Le Chiffre to return his smile. To say something about the awkwardness of their situation.

He did not expect what Le Chiffre said next.

“Out.”

Adam raised a brow, still holding the inhaler.

“What?” He asked, not believing his ears.

“I said: out,” Le Chiffre said in an harsh tone.

“But...,” Adam, usually so eloquent, was at a loss of words. “I thought we...”

Le Chiffre sat up at the edge of the bed on which they just had fun and the best sex Adam had ever had, his back turned to Adam who was still kneeling on the bed, the platinum inhaler in his hands.

“We had fun. What else do you want?” Le Chiffre said. “Do you want a story, Mister Towers? You have one.”

Adam furrowed his brows.

“A story,” he said. “Wow.”

He put the inhaler down next to Le Chiffre and reached for his arm, wanting to say or do anything to calm the other man who was obviously in uproar.

“I said get out!”

The tone in Le Chiffre's voice, a snarl, a command, was a threat. And Adam was nobody to mistake a threat as anything else.

He went off the bed and grabbed his clothing.

“You know where to find me,” he added, not daring to look at Le Chiffre, getting into his pants to just get out with a hint of pride, but then Le Chiffre looked up.

There was disgust in his eyes.

“Yes, I know where to find you if I have the taste for another whore in my bed.”

Adam stopped breathing.

He wanted to return those humiliating words with a snarky comeback, but he could not say anything.

The man that he had felt a strange connection with, that he had felt safe and secure with, wanted and desired, had turned into a monster.

“At least I know now who Le Chiffre is,” he whispered and turned, only wearing his pants, to leave.

He let the door fall into the lock and tried to shrug the tremble off his body, but when he looked up, standing there, half-clad in the hallway of a luxury hotel, he was faces with a beautiful woman with asymmetric blonde hair, wearing a revealing, skintight evening dress.

He expected her to look amused, to look scandalized, or to look at him with pity. Instead she looked...sad and only gave him a nod.

Adam turned and ran.

He ran until he had reached his room, taking two flights of stairs and letting the door crash closed, getting out of his pants and stepping under the shower, wanting ot wash off the touches, kisses, feelings that Le Chiffre had left on his body.

And still he wanted all of that to stay. To stay forever.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Two floors underneath him, Le Chiffre sat on the edge of his bed, still unmoving.

He did not hear Valenka come to his room and pick up the clothes.

He did not hear her make a call to Kratt and tell his bodyguard that he was okay.

He did not pay attention to any of that.

All he was paying attention to was the black tie on the floor that had slipped from Adam's pocket. The only reminder of the first few hours that he had felt human in years.

A bloody tear escaped his left eye, and it mixed with those of embarrassment and shame that streamed over his face.


	4. Chapter 4

Adam did not find a single moment of sleep in the remains of the night, instead he showered three times. And after the third time, he had to face the fact that he could not wash the feeling of Le Chiffre's hands on his body, his cock inside him, his lips on his away. He still felt that certain throb inside him, pulsating and needy, and he hated that he could not shut it out.

He felt restless even in the morning, even though he should feel tired he could not stop moving. Finally, he opened his laptop and started the article he was supposed to write about the poker tournament, and could not put down a single word that made sense. Adam considered himself a good reporter, a good writer, and now he was distracted by thoughts about a man who had made very clear that he did not want him and had only used him as long as it had been pleasurable for him. But who was he lying to? He wanted to feel used because it would make it so much easier to forget about the sexual encounter with the mysterious stranger, but it was just not the truth. He had wanted all that the same way Le Chiffre had wanted him. And that was what annoyed him.

He put the pen he had started to make notes with down and looked at an invisible spot at the wall.

Juts when he was trying to make a decision whether to go out and explore the town or take another hot shower, his laptop pinged and indicated that he had received a new message, the same moment his phone rang, which he picked up.

“Hey Billy...Yes, I got your email just now...Thanks for that...Oh, is he?...Yes, I will be careful, you know me....ha ha...See you soon...Bye.”

He ended the short call and opened the email that his contact had sent him. Billy had indicated with his words just spoken that there was a certain danger coming with Le Chiffre, whoever he was, and his curiosity was peaking.

Adam was almost giddy when he read the first line of the file, his heart beating louder and the blood rushing in his ears.

_Jean Duran_

Adam tilted the head to the side.

“Jean,” he whispered. Finally a name to the face.

Adam smiled and continued to read to himself.

“Jean Duran, born in Albania...Albania! That was the language I couldn't make out!...41 years old...mmmh daddy...,” Adam giggled almost childish. He had always been a sucker for older men, not that he considered 41 old, but he was older than him, almost fifteen years older. Experienced, which was no question after what they had shared last night.

The rest of the file was read in silence, and Adam started to frown at some facts he learned about last night's lover. Orphan. History of probably abuse at the hands of other children in the orphanage. Lost sight in his eye after a childhood accident.

Mathematical genius who was able to make complicated calculations in his head.

Chess prodigy, which got him to Paris at his teenage years where he was shown around as the boy being able to beat grandmasters in the game.

Suffers from asthma, taking salbutamol for it, and haemolacria, which causes his left eye to weep bloody tears, caused by a damaged blood vessel in his eye, probably originated by the “accident” in his childhood.

Contacts to several criminal organizations, acting as banker and accountant for terrorist organizations, running most probably his own crime syndicate in Europe for years without having been prosecuted a single time.

A dangerous man.

A ruthless and probably cruel man.

Adam leaned back in his chair, blinking a few times at the screen.

So, Jean Duran was an orphan boy who had no social construct around him. Who had asthma, maybe had that since childhood. Adam himself had visited boarding schools, and he knew how cruel children could be. Having asthma would have caused constant bullying from other children.

Adam understood.

He sighed.

He only understood too good.

Remembering last night, Le Chiffre, Jean, had been in control. He had held Adam down, had choked him without a threat but leaving no doubt that he was the more dominant partner of the two of them. He was the one to give the pace, the strength, the passion. He was the active part while Adam was forced to react and be passive, not that he did not like it.

But then he had an asthma attack. Something that had Adam only scared for a moment because he did not know how serious something like that could be, what to do. Fetching the inhalter had been the only reaction Adam had been able to think of, but he had not thought about what Le Chiffre...no, Jean...must have been feeling.

The loss of control.

Adam frowned at the file on his computer screen.

Jean had lost control in front of him.

That made so much sense that he was almost upset with himself that he had not thought of that himself.

The man who controlled the finances of some of the most infamous criminals of the world, who ran a criminal organization, who had control over every step he made, had lost control in front of a stranger he had sex with.

He had stopped being Le Chiffre and had shown Adam the face of Jean Duran.

A knock at his door stopped his trail of thought and he got up and opened.

“We need to talk,” the blonde he saw last night in front of Le Chiffre's suite said and without waiting for an invitation entered his room.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

“You're an idiot.”

Jean Duran, Le Chiffre, looked up only shortly from the screen of his laptop that had held him occupied for the past hours, making calculations, checking on accounts and investments.

Valenka had sat down opposite him, the long legs crossed and leaned back almost casually, inspecting her fingernails, deep in the part she loved to play as the pretty blonde girl without brains while only those close to her knew that she was a skilled fighter and one of his closest confidants.

“I'm also your employer.”

Valenka smirked.

“You are still an idiot.”

Jean closed the lid of his laptop with a smack that was louder than had been necessary and looked at her, one brow raised and the hands folded in front of him.

“And why, my dear, am I an idiot? Elaborate.”

Again, she smirked.

“You smiled.”

He blinked at her.

“I do smile when it is appropriate.”

“You smiled at the boy. He did annoy you to no limits, and still there was something,” she waved into his direction. “When you looked at him. Something that made you smile. When he left your room, nice body by the way, he looked scared and there were tears in his eyes.”

Le Chiffre, his mask firmly back in place, got up and went to the window, looking outside.

“I am not talking to you about my private life, Valenka,” he said.

“You have no private life. That is the problem. You make people believe that you are in a relationship with me, and I do appreciate the effort, but we both know that there is something missing from your life. Something that makes you human. Are you human, Jean?”

She got up and went over to him, noticing how a muscle in his jaw moved and a bloody tear went down his cheek, while he did make no move to wipe it away like he usually did. A hand on his shoulder, she leaned against his firm body from behind.

“Maybe it is time you allow yourself to be human.”

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Le Chiffre had won a considerate amount of money when the group of gamblers agreed on a break later in the evening. He took a seat on one of the lounge chairs that were situated at the side of the room, taking his drink with him, and watched the other people present, watched how Valenka and Kratt discussed something with each other close to the bar, how the other players either stayed at the table to talk or scattered around the room.

He was surprised though, when a certain blond Englishman took the chair next to his, putting down one of those atrocious martinis he had mixed again onto the small side table separating them.

“Mister Bond,” he said in greeting. “I was not aware that you are desperate for my company.”

Bond chuckled and leaned back in the chair.

“I think we should talk, Duran,” he said, making Jean raise a brow. Nobody used his real name as long as they were not in a more private relationship with him.

“What are you playing at, Mister Bond?” He asked. “I assume this is not about a round of Texas Holdem.”

Again, Bond chuckled and kept a smirk on his handsome face.

“I know that you know who I really am. You knowing my name gave that away,” Bond said.

“So, yes, I know that the British crown is your employer and that you are here to stop me from winning a reasonable amount of money,” he replied.

“Not beating around the bush, Mister Bond?” Jean smiled, pleasantly surprised by the openness of the agent. “What is it that you are playing at?”

Bond leaned forward, arms resting on his legs.

“Obanno will have your head on a nicely polished silver platter should you lose this game,” he said. “MI6 wants that to happen, because Obanno is in their eyes the smaller of two evils.”

Le Chiffre had to chuckle at his words.

“I have a more than reasonable amount of money in my own accounts,” he said.

“Just not enough to pay out Obanno and get out of this game alive.”

Le Chiffre nodded once.

“What if I thought that you are the lesser of two evils in this game?”

Now it was Jean's turn to tilt the head to the side.

“I have seen the war crimes that Obanno and his Ugandan friends are capable off, and I do not think that a man like that should gain even more power.”

“And a man like me gaining power would not cause you sleepless nights?”

“I don't think my lack or not lack of sleep is the issue here, Mister Duran,” Bond continued. “You are in power, you are in control. If you win, not much will change for now. I have no reason to win this game if I have your promise that Obanno will be stopped. I can offer you safety. The government wants to grant you asylum. Because...whether Obanno gets his money or not, you will lose your head. What about your girlfriend, what about your boy toy?”

Jean raised again a brow.

“My...boy toy,” he repeated flatly, confusion in his voice.

“The cute English boy you left with yesterday. The one that distracted you throughout the game with every move he made and every promising look he gave you. Pretty, I must admit,” Bond smiled knowingly and took a sip of his drink.

“He is...,” Jean started, but Bond looked into another direction, the smile on his face being pleased and relaxed.

“Breathtaking,” Bond finished for him.

Jean followed his look and found the small and lithe stature of his last night's lover. A twitch of jealousy that Bond found him breathtaking as well caused a sting in his heart.

Adam.

Standing there all clad again in black, the hair as messy as always, a slight stubble on his jaw, the eyes glinting in mischief.

And an honest smile spread over Jean's face.

Bond had been right.

This was his boy.

Now he only had to figure out how to get him back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam and Jean having a talk.

Adam went past the two men that were sitting on the side chairs, looking only shortly at the man that he had gotten to know as Le Chiffre and who had turned inside his head into Jean already. Their eyes met for seconds, and Adam gave him a short nod, while every fiber of his being screamed not being able to just crawl into his lap and lick into his mouth. The scent of the other man still lingered in his memory, the salty and clean taste of his skin, the warmth of his breath – Adam shuddered and tried to ignore the rising arousal that had been ignited just by being in the same room as the man who had rejected him so cruelly.

Only few steps brought him to the bar, where he gave the elegant bartender a beaming and charming smile while his mind lingered a moment longer with Jean. Why did he have to look so mouthwatering in that velvet tux?

Adam let out a little sigh and leaned a little forward over the bar, well aware that his pants were stretching with him and gave a good view on his firm ass, almost feeling Le Chiffre's eyes still on him.

“Dear,” he said to the bartender who looked up, returning now Adam's smile. “Could you get me a Negroni?”

“Of course, Sir,” the man replied in accented English, and Adam continued to watch him without turning back around, smiling and shifting his weight a little from his left to his right leg, exactly knowing what that movement did to his ass and the man who he hoped was still watching him.

He watched the bartender mix his drink to perfection and put the old fashioned glass finally in front of him, garnished with the classic orange slice, and like Adam had examined stirred over ice. He smiled.

“Perfect,” he said. “Thank you so much, dear.”

Adam winked at the attractive man whose almost black eyes glinted and returned his flirty smile.

“Do you stay for longer, Sir?” He asked.

Adam took a sip and enjoyed the bitter sweet taste of campari and vermouth on his tongue, something he had always liked and would continue to do so.

“Oh, I don't know,” he said, leaning again a little over the bar. “Maybe a few more days after this...,” he waved in direction of the poker table. “...thing is over. Is there anything you'd suggest I should see?”

The sing-song in Adam's voice left no doubt that he was showing interest in the other man, who dried his hands in a towel and then leaned a little over the bar himself, getting closer to Adam and looking right into his eyes.

“There are a few...things...I would be happy to show you, Sir,” he said. “Something not every tourist visiting gets to see.”

Adam tilted his head a little to the side, licking seductively over his bottom lip, noticing how the other's eyes were glued to the flick of his tongue.

“Now, that would be a pleasure, I am sure,” he said taking out his notepad to write down his room number. “I...”

“...am taken,” a harsh voice next to him said and took the pad out of his hand.

Frowning, Adam looked up, and looked into Jean's white and brown eyes, the face of the almost lover a mask of disgust and anger.

Adam raised a brow.

“What do you want?” He hissed and grabbed the notepad back out of Jean's hand, wrote his room number down and handed it to the bartender, winking again.

“Really?” Jean only asked, then put a hand on Adam's elbow and dragged him with him, making wide steps that Adam, who was reasonably shorter, was struggling to keep up with.

“My drink,” Adam countered while Le Chiffre dragged him almost like a child after him.

“I'll buy you a new one,” the Albanian only said.

When the unlike couple went past Bond, who was still sitting in the same spot as earlier, the Englishman toasted them with his martini and smirked into his glass, causing Adam's frown to grow deeper.

Cold night air hit his face when Le Chiffre finally shoved him from the warm inside of the hotel onto one of the balconies.

“What the fuck?” Adam almost yelled at him. “Who do you think you are?”

He turned and looked into Le Chiffre's, Jean's, very annoyed looking face, a similar frown to his between his eyes, taking a deep breath from his inhaler. Adam was almost prompted to ask if he was okay, if he should do anything, but he did not. Also, because he did not want Jean again to gain the feeling of having to depend on anyone but himself.

“I think you know exactly who I am,” he returned.

“Jean Duran. Albanian orphan. Crime lord. Banker. Mathematical Genius. Chess prodigy. Gambler. Asshole,” Adam took a breath. “Does that sum it up?”

Jean raised a brow.

“You did your research. I am impressed,” he said.

“As if you did not had some info on me put together before you allowed yourself to sink to low as to fuck me,” came the hissing reply, and Jean showed the mercy to nod once. “What I meant was, who the fuck do you think you are to, figuratively speaking, drag me out of bar by my earlobe like a little boy?”

“Maybe because you act like a little boy,” Jean snapped. “You think yourself so low that you need to hook up with a servant?”

Adam's eyes became slits.

“A...servant? You fucking, arrogant, elitist asshole. God, I'm so glad you're done with me.”

“Done with you?” Jean returned. “What makes you think I'm done with you?”

Adam laughed into his face.

“Really?” He asked. “I don't know, kicking me half naked out of your suite in the middle of sex kind of gave me a hint about that.”

“I did not...,” Le Chiffre started, but Adam raised a hand to interrupt him.

“You kicked me out, Jean,” he said, using the first time the other's real first name. “There was something between us, and don't even dare to pretend you did not feel it as well. There was something. And, let's be honest, you took that away from the both of us and, honestly, maybe you are not done. But I am. If you will excuse me, I need to set up a date with a hot bartender who might be interested in me.”

He went to walk past Jean, but was stopped with a hand on his shoulder, standing now so close to Jean that he could smell the hint of his aftershave and a shiver went down his spine.

“Adam...,” Jean whispered, the head tilted in a way to the side that his breath met Adam's ear, causing him to close his eyes. “Last night...”

“Last night, there was a moment of intimacy between us, Jean, something...I don't know how to say it...something that felt right and warm and, yes, intimate.” Jean still held his head lowered. “I felt close to you, and not in a sexual way.” Now Jean looked up, right into Adam's eyes. “Yes, the sex was...amazing. I'm a slut, I love sex. I love it often, I love it dirty, I love it wild. But the sex with you was, it brought tears to my eyes because for the first time in my whole fucking sexual active life, I felt a connection with someone. Then you had the asthma attack.” Again, Jean looked away, but Adam took his chin and turned his head so he looked back at him. “You had the asthma attack, you lost control and you showed weakness. And I wanted to hold and kiss you for that, because...Jean, it meant so much to me, that I was with you, that I was...” He felt the sting of tears in his eyes, stupid emotions. “I didn't care that we did not come, not that I don't enjoy a mind-blowing orgasm, but...I was so close to you. And then you pushed me away. You called me a whore, you didn't even give me the decency to get fully dressed.”

Adam shook his head.

“I can't do this,” he said, the voice silent and calm. “I can't and I won't do this to myself, Jean. I don't know what you want from me, but I know I'm not able to give it to you. You want a fuck, and last night, that was what I wanted too. With the one-eyed stranger with the sexy accent and the gentle hands. But with Jean Duran, I don't know what I want.” He voice almost broke. “I came into the bar to make you jealous, but now I know that was a stupid idea.”

A tear left Adam's right eye, ran down his cheek.

“I'm fucking scared, Jean. I'm scared of my own courage. You're not a man to get involved with and still...”

“Still?”

“I still can't think of anything I ever wanted this much,” he said, hesitating. “What do you want, Jean? A fuck? Not to be the loser in this game between us?”

Jean shook his head.

“This has stopped being a game the moment we met,” he said.

“Then what is this between us?”

“I don't know,” the banker replied. “I want to know you.”

Adam nodded.

“Adam, what I did last night,” he started and then took one of the lounge chairs on the balcony and sat down on it, his arms immediately resting on his legs. “I never let anyone get close, I can't. Not in my profession, and not with the lifestyle I chose for myself. And then...you happened. One look and you were inside my head, and you refuse to leave.” He tapped with one finger against his temple. “My mind is a busy one, there is no space for anything in addition to me dealing with my business. You, Adam, are an unwelcome distraction.”

Adam winced audible, making Jean look up.

“No, I did not mean it like that,” he added quickly. “I welcome you in my thoughts, but I do not know what to do with it. I don't know how to do this, with this desire to be close to you, to have you.”

Adam huffed. There was resignation in his eyes.

“Then I guess this is goodbye, Jean,” he said. “Thanks for the fun.”

Jean took Adam's hand into his, stopping him from leaving as his body language had indicated.

“Adam, no,” he said and Adam noticed once again how soft his voice had grown in these last minutes. “I...”

Adam nodded and pulled his hand from his grip turned and went to open the balcony door, pain in his heart and fighting against tears that were just as unwelcome as he was in Jean's life.

“I'm sorry.”

Adam stopped and turned back around.

“What did you say?” He whispered.

Jean stood up and stepped closed to him, taking his head into both his hands and leaned his forehead against his.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I'm sorry for having hurt you, and I'm sorry that we could not end last night what we started. Allow me to make it up to you, allow me to start this, whatever this between us is, over.”

Adam looked up at the taller man, searched for something in his odd eyes, and found nothing but true emotion there, fear and something he had never seen before in anyone he had been with.

He nodded and leaned up, allowing Jean, whose left eye wept a bloody tear, to kiss him gently. Warmth flooded his whole body while he smiled into the kiss, noticing how they both were hesitant with insecurity.

“Start with buying me a new drink,” Adam whispered. “I'm in the mood for champagne, I think.”

When the bartender, a disappointed look on his face, poured minutes later two glasses of champagne, Bond across the room already back in the game and smirking at them, Jean and Adam again looked into each other's eyes, and something like happiness was in Adam's heart.

Well. That was a first.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The appearance of a certain garment.

It was an unusual late morning when Jean stepped out of the bathroom, still wet after the shower he had taken, a towel wrapped around his hips, the scent of the hot water and his shower gel and aftershave lingering on his skin. He felt clean, relaxed, and still feeling a slight tingling feeling all over his body, and the reason for that was still sleeping soundly in the wide bed they had shared during the last night.

Adam was laying face down, the head buried in the fluffy pillows, the sheets clouded around him, giving a beautiful view on his creamy skin and the array of small hickey he was wearing on his neck and shoulders.

Jean smiled at the younger man, remaining standing there in the doorway, a weird warmth in his stomach.

The last night had been not less steamy than their first encounter that he had stopped so cruelly, but somehow the edge of having sex with a complete stranger had vanished into something that Jean had not felt in years with anyone, not on personal or professional level. Trust. He was no longer afraid of showing weakness when he was close to Adam. He was no longer forcing himself to continue to wear the mask of Le Chiffre, but had allowed himself last night to be nobody but Jean. The sex they had shared last night was slower but not less intense, maybe even more so.

Jean had had his share of sex in the past, but he had never been so fast so close to anyone before. There were emotions in the back of his head that he wanted to shut out, but could not, so he ignored them the best he could. In a few days the tournament would be over. Adam would return to London and write his article about the game, he would return to one of his residences and continue his life in the twilight. Most likely they would never see each other again.

Jean pressed his lips together. No, he would not think of a future he had no control over and he would withstand to calculate the probability of a different outcome of what he expected to happen for himself. He would just enjoy the short time he would have with the English boy, and make the best of it.

Adam stirred in his sleep, the mop of curls even more mussed than usually, and stretched his arms. There was a mumbling sound, and a yawn that was almost silenced by the pillows, and then Adam turned a little to the side, seemed to look at the window through which already the sun was shining. The rain of the last days had finally stopped and now that the clouds had vanished, sun was flooding the room, softened by the open curtains they had not closed when they went to Jean's suite last night.

The younger man sniffed and then turned further, the face in a frown and blinked still sleepy at the other man, who was standing there, a shoulder leaned against the door frame and who continued to admire the beauty in his bed.

A soft smile spread over Adam's face when he looked at Jean, the greenish eyes filled with something that Jean could not put into words.

“Hey,” he said, the voice a little sleep ridden, still smiling and leaning sideways on one arm.

“Good morning,” Jean gave back, not able to stop himself from smiling as well.

Adam bit his lower lip.

“You showered without me.”

Jean chuckled.

“If I had waited for you to wake up and join me, we would not be finished with showering until the afternoon, which would be a wasted day,” Jean said.

The journalist frowned again.

“Are you saying that a shower with me would be wasted time?”

“Maybe that was a poor choice of words. I apologize.”

Adam laughed, pearly, fresh and clear, like rain.

“You're way to formal for someone who was inside my ass last night.”

Jean winced and made two steps to sit down at the edge of the bed, reaching out to touch Adam's leg that had slipped out from under the sheets, both looking his fingers caress the slender limb.

“Rude,” Jean said. “There is no need to be rude about things like that.”

“Mmmh,” Adam hummed. “You did not complain about the things I had to say last night.”

“Did I not?”

Adam sat up and shuffled closer to Jean, leaned his stubbly chin against his shoulder, looking up to him with large puppy eyes and a smile that was promising nothing but trouble.

“No, you did not...daddy,” he whispered and kissed Jean's neck.

Jean was gifting him with one of his rare true smiles and wanted to lean down to kiss Adam properly, but the younger man jumped out of the bed and went towards the bathroom, making a big display out of the movement of his hips, somewhat playful and seductive, and one-hundred percent just Adam. Jean rolled his eyes, while Adam giggled a little to himself.

In the door to the bathroom he turned and looked at Jean over his shoulder.

“So, what are your plans for today?”

Jean turned and looked at Adam, who vanished into the bathroom and then heard the shower turn on, Adam humming a song he did not know.

“If you don't have plans, get ready for an outing,” Adam answered before he was able to. “Want to see the town before we leave.”

Before _we_ leave.

Somehow, that sounded right.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Strolling over a farmer's market was not a new experience for Jean, actually it was an old one. When he was a child, he had often stolen food from a market close to the orphanage, where food had often been sparse, but after he had left Albania, spent years he did not want to count any more all over the world, farmer's markets were something he had never felt the urge to go to again.

Now though he was dragged by one hand over a market by an English twink of a man, who smiled and almost cheered at the things he saw, who tasted fruit and spoke with both hands when the sellers did not understand his posh English accent and never lost his patience and friendliness. It was like the sunshine after the rain was reflected in Adam's personality, and Jean wondered if he would have turned into a different man if he had met someone like Adam earlier in his life, when it would have still counted.

“These are wonderful!” Adam exclaimed, munching a handful of grapes and put one between Jean's lips before he could decline, speaking in very clear syllables towards the older man behind the stand. “Sweet and so...I don't know...they are very crisp?”

“Yes, yes, crisp,” the man repeated, and Adam grinned, very sure that he had not understood a word he said.

Adam picked up a handful of grapes and handed them to the farmer.

“This, and...,” he picked up another trunk. “These too.”

The farmer nodded with a happy smile.

“What do you want to do with all those grapes?” Jean asked him, but was pulling already his wallet out.

“Eat them?” Adam frowned at the leather accessory in Jean's hand. “Put that away. I can pay for my own grapes. And I'm not going to share.”

Jean put the wallet away and watched Adam pay for the grapes, still somehow having a conversation with the farmer even though neither spoke the other's language.

“Are you not?” Jean asked, and stole a grape from the open paperbag that Adam now carried.

“Hey,” Adam laughed, slapping at Jean's fingers. “Mine!”

He popped another grape into his own mouth and then leaned up to kiss Jean's lips, who hesitated only for a moment, not used to a public display like this, but then opened his mouth slightly and allowed Adam, who now grinned, to push the grape into his mouth.

“You are...”

“Hot? Gorgeous? Slutty? Amazing in bed?”

“Incorrigible.”

“That too, yeah,” Adam laughed and looked down at his hand that was holding Jean's again.

When he looked back up, he smiled genuinely.

“I'm having a really good time with you, you know?”

Jean nodded, but had to pull out his handkerchief to take away one of his bloody tears.

“Does that hurt?”

“No,” Jean replied. “I'm having a good time too, Adam.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, I am.”

Again, Adam smiled and continued to hold Jean's hand while they were walking over the market, stopping here and there to look at the things that were offered.

Adam was long aware that the small, bald man that belonged to Jean's closer circle was shadowing them, and also that Jean was wearing a small handgun in the inside of his jacket, in the same pocket at the inhaler. It felt odd to not be completely alone, but the third man never interfered with them or interacted with Jean, some kind of silent understanding between them, and somehow, knowing who Jean was and how dangerous it probably was in his close proximity, it made him feel safe. Being with someone like Jean, it meant not only sleeping with this gorgeous and sexy man, it meant sleeping with a criminal who had blood on his hands. And Adam, who usually had a surprisingly conservative moral code, did not mind. The man he with was not Le Chiffre. It was Jean Duran.

“These are nice,” Adam said while touching a selection of colorful, soft scarves that caught his eye already from meters away. “Soft as cashmere.”

Jean touched one of the scarves himself and nodded. The cloth was indeed babysoft, reminding him of Adam's skin.

“But wow,” Adam whispered, holding the price tag of a dark green scarf between his fingers. “Two hundred euro are a damn lot for a scarf.” He looked up at Jean. “I thought this country was supposed to be not this expensive.”

“Tourist prices,” Jean said, considering for a moment to pull out the wallet again, but remembered Adam's words. He would not accept a gift from him. Too bad, the color would almost match Adam's eyes and make them stand out even more.

“Yeah, probably,” Adam said, but then shrugged. “I've seen from cheese and ham over there, I want to try those.”

Jean smiled and looked after Adam who already made his way.

What had he gotten himself into with this boy?

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam was again humming to himself when he came out of the shower of his own room hours later, his hair damp and the skin glowing.

The whole day had been almost like a dream.

Waking up in Jean's suite, making out with him in the shower after he had convinced him to join him after all, then a late breakfast on the terrace and their adventurous walk in town, the scents and tastes of the farmer's market. It had felt so normal to spend time with the other man. So good.

The late afternoon had been spent in Jean#s suite once again, and once again a making out session had turned into the most intimate and erotic sex Adam could imagine. He could not quite understand what was so different about the asthmatic man, who tonight again had a short attack but now had allowed Adam to stay at his side, to hand him the inhaler that they had put onto the nightstand in advance, and afterwards continue with the slow and gentle sex they shared.

Jean had asked Adam to join him tonight in the casino as his companion, and Adam had beamed at the invitation and had returned to his room to get ready for tonight, intent on looking his best when Jean wanted to present him like this.

The better of his two suits was laying on the bed, ironed by the hotel's service and Adam had decided for his black shirt but no tie, even if that was against the usual protocol with fancy suits like this. He wanted to keep a few buttons of the shirt open and show off the love bites that Jean had left on his collarbone and neck, where he had marked him almost like he was his property, and somehow that thought turned him on.

Adam thought he looked best with a slight stubble, so he had foregone a shave tonight and had only washed his hair that anyway would look like he got straight out of bed, and that was exactly the look that he wanted to achieve tonight. He wanted to look like Jean had claimed him thoroughly, wanted to make the other men at the gambling table jealous, and he grinned to himself at the thought.

Drying off his hair with a towel, he stopped in his tracks when he stepped into the bedroom.

There was not only the suit and shirt on the bed.

Something that did not belong to him had joined his clothing, and he frowned when he stepped closer and looked at the additional item, to which a handwritten note was attached.

“ _Wear this for me. J.”_

Adam blinked and then smiled, holding the green scarf in his hands.


	7. Chapter 7

Adam got nervous when the time that Jean had told him he would pick him up at his room slowly approached. Every minute seemed to be twice as long and he found himself sitting down at the edge of his bed, go to the bathroom, check himself out in the mirror, return to the bed, rinse, repeat. He looked good. He knew that. He was a handsome man with an almost too pretty face, which had been often an helpful asset when it came to his job. Adam had always paid attention on his appearance, knew that black and green brought his eyes nicely, that his mop of curls made him always look like he had just gotten out of bed, something that people found strangely appealing. And he knew that it drove Jean crazy. More than once he had found his lover stare at his curls or absently run a hand through the strands.

His lover!

He smiled to himself and bit his lower lip.

Had it really been just two days since he had met Jean? It felt so unreal that he had not known him for years already.

Again, he moved into the bathroom and looked at his reflecting, took care that every curl was exactly where he wanted it to be. The black of his suit and shirt accentuated his pale skin, the scruff on his jaw was an attempt to make him not look like a fifteen year old, and still it somehow enhanced his boyishness that Jean seemed to find so attractive.

But it was the scarf he had slung casually round his neck that was the cherry on top. The green that Jean had picked was the perfect color for him, bringing his mixed colored eyes out in a green he had not known himself that they could look like that, and he smiled at the thought that Jean must have went back to the market either himself or explained to one of his employees what to get. Already knowing what kind of a perfectionist Jean was, he probably went himself. Adam should find that amusing, but he found is endearing. Not only that Jean put so much thought into buying the garment for him, but also that he made the effort to get it for him. Adam knew that it was an expensive gift, but it was still somewhat understated. A scarf was nothing people would admire like a expensive watch or jewellry or designer clothing, all things that Adam of course liked, but this was so much nicer. Only he and Jean would know where he got it, so shortly after their first meeting, on the first day they had spent together, and Adam could not stop hoping that it had been the first of many to come.

He wetted his lips with the tip of his tongue just the moment there was a knock at his door.

“Coming!” He yelled and made quick steps, chuckling to himself that Jean did not just get in, after all he must have had the means to do so after putting the scarf onto the bed while Adam had been in the shower.

Opening the door, he was faced with the man who had managed to occupy his thoughts since the moment they had first laid eyes onto each other.

“Hey,” Adam said, a beaming smile on his face.

Jean smiled back and took Adam's hand in his, lifted it and kissed the knuckles, a simple gesture that made Adam blink in surprise and then return the kiss that was now aimed at his lips.

“I see you found my present,” Jean said, letting his fingers run over the soft fabric of the scarf.

“You sneaky bastard broke into my room,” Adam laughed. “It's gorgeous, Jean. Thank you.”

“I'm glad that it finds your approval. And I'm glad you wear it. You look even more beautiful with it.”

Adam tilted his head to the side, still smiling.

“So, you think I'm beautiful?”

“I think you're annoying. But yes, you are beautiful,” Jean smiled, making Adam laugh. “You don't want to cover those up?”

Jean's fingertip touched Adam's skin at his neck, where he knew one of the hickeys that Jean had left on him was displayed.

Adam hummed.

“Nah, I want everyone to see them. I'd take the shirt off and show them the rest, but I don't want to draw attention,” he winked.

“You will draw attention just fine. Everyone will see you as the most beautiful and desirable person in the room,” Jean said, kissing Adam's cheek.

“Only in the room?”

“You are a nuisance.”

“And you still want to push me onto that bed over there and ravage me,” Adam whispered.

“You are. A. Nuisance,” Jean whispered back and took a whiff of Adam's scent. “We should get going before I take you by your word and miss the game.”

Adam chuckled and took Jean's offered arm.

“By the way, can you explain the game to me by any chance? I'm totally lost with the rules,” Adam asked when they stepped into the elevator, joined by the bald man that had been waiting for them.

“Were you not supposed to write an article about it?”

“Yes, well, this is kind of a punishment for me because I somehow misbehaved?”

Jean raised a brow.

“Why am I not surprised by that? But yes, I will explain the rules to you.”

“You're the best, daddy,” Adam said, batting his long eyelashes at the taller man.

“Never call me that again.”

“Yes, daddy.”

“A nuisance.”

The bald man that was standing behind them could not hold back a chuckle.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Jean opened the door to his suite, being met with darkness.

Kratt had informed him during a break in the game that so far had went well, that Valenka needed to talk to him urgently in his suite. He had not even had the time to tell Adam where he would be going, and so he asked Kratt to stay downstairs and have an eye on the nosy reporter who again was flirting with everyone who came into his way, while he went upstairs.

Only after he turned on the light switch left of him, he noticed that Valenka stood on the balcony, still wearing her revealing canary yellow dress. He frowned and sighed, hating that he had been interrupted in his concentration.

Putting down his coat and scarf onto the sofa, he made wide steps towards the balcony, not wanting to lose more time before he would be able to continue the game.

“So, what's...what's so damn important?” He asked, his voice annoyed, while he stepped out into the fresh night air.

Valenka turned towards him and he noticed that she was distressed, but before he could ask her what was wrong, she had grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss.

Jean frowned into the kiss.

Of course they had kissed before, after all Valenka acted usually as his companion and most people that met them assumed automatically that she was his lover, but they had never shared anything intimate like this while both being sober. Once there had been an attempt by her to seduce him, after she had gotten some liquid courage into her body, and Jean had made very clear that she had the wrong gender to get his attention in that way and that she was playing with being unemployed if she should ever try this again, which she never did. They had become friends, even if Jean would never admit that, but he trusted her.

Now though, he stood there in silent shock and surprise. She knew he was with Adam, that there was more then just desire he felt for the cocky Brit, had even intervened after their first parting. His brilliant mind calculated possible reasons, and came up with nothing.

When she parted from him, he wanted to ask what was wrong with her. Was she maybe jealous of Adam? Was she trying to stake a claim she had no right to?

Instead she said: “I'm sorry.”

And then hell broke lose.

Something cut into his throat and he was pulled back into the suite with blunt force. He stumbled over his feet by the sudden movement, trying helplessly to fight against being suffocated and feeling already how he had no chance against the man that held him.

“Where is my money?” Came a snarl into his ear.

Obanno.

How was he here?

How did he know where he was and what he was doing to get the money of the warlord back?

He had been so close to end the threat against his life, and now it all was about to end before he had the chance to make the final steps.

So close.

His heart beat faster, he felt his breathing go shallow, not only due to the chocking with the thing that cut into his skin, but also his asthma acting up. Sweat broke out on his skin, the eyes widened in fear.

“Do you think you can lose that kind of money and no one would notice?” Obanno continued to growl.

The garotte cut deeper into Jean's skin, making him certain that this would end to be his final evening. He would not return to his yacht, or one of his houses. He would not be able to make one of those places a home. He would not hold Adam again. Adam.

“Your money is safe,” he whispered against the strangulation that he went through, being pulled harshly back by Obanno and then Obanno pushed him to the floor.

Turning around, he saw that Valenka was held back by a henchman of Obanno's, being choked herself and looking more helpless than he had ever seen her again.

Jean felt a vein in his temple pulsate, felt cold sweat on his skin, and knew that their chances to get out of this alive went against zero.

“You'll have it tomorrow,” he said, trying to steal time. “All of it.”

The henchman that was holding Valenka still in a chokehold, pulled suddenly a short sword, maybe a machete, out of nowhere, and Jean's eyes widened when Obanno pointed the tip of the weapon at him, while he was trying to loosen his collar to get some air into his lungs.

“I would take a hand for this betrayal, but you need it to play cards,” Obanno said to him, the expression on his face not letting anything to imagination and he was certain that he would kill him within the blink of an eye without hesitation.

But instead, Obanno turned to Valenka.

“Hold out your arm,” he ordered.

Panic was mirrored in Valenka's eyes. She struggled in the arms of the stranger, trying to fight back. Jean was frozen on the floor, unable to do anything but watch. Helpless. Defeated.

“Hold out your arm, my beauty...or I will take your head.”

Valenka strained her muscles to fight against the man who was pulling her arm out. Her eyes staring fearful onto her own limb that she was about to lose, just because Obanno wanted to make a point.

Jean should have been scared for her.

Should do anything.

Should get up and fight and save her from the unavoidable fate.

But instead he could only stare and think one thing.

Adam.

Obanno did this to Valenka because he thought her to be his lover, his girlfriend. Because he thought he loved her.

What would he do to someone Jean truly loved?

Love.

Jean's heart skipped a beat the moment the machete slit through air and stopped millimeters above Valenka's arm, making the screaming woman gasp, the eyes almost comically wide.

“Not a word of protest,” Obanno said, his voice almost sounding amused. “You should find a new boyfriend.”

Obanno and his companion left the room without another word, adjusting his suit as soon as they had closed the door behind them. The warlord's eyes fell to his right, where a blond man was making out with a slim woman in a purple dress. Disgusting. This public display of things that should not be shown to anyone. To him this meant that the woman was of no importance to the man, her dignity nothing that had to be protected against other's hungry eyes.

On his left, the elevator doors opened and a young man stepped out, typing something into his phone and not paying attention to where he was going, and ran right into Obanno's chest. The smaller man looked up with bright green eyes that matched the scarf he was wearing.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you standing there," he smiled, causing Obanno only to huff, while the young strangers eyes set on the couple behind Obanno with a little frown between his brows.

Inside the room Jean still stared at the floor, panting, the realization about his own feelings still having him in a paralyzing shock.

He loved Adam.


	8. Chapter 8

Adam frowned a moment longer at the dark skinned man that he had run into and how had almost growled at him for the unwanted contact, and then saw from the corner of his eye the blond Englishman and the brunette goddess making out close to the door to the stairwell.

Weird.

He had been a little worried when Jean had left the game room with only a short nod into his direction but without a word of explanation, and it had been surprisingly easy to get rid ot the bald man whose name he still did not know and who had an eye on him at all times.

Now, he was standing in front of suite 405, and after only a moment of hesitation, he knocked twice and waited.

Listening, he heard voices behind the closed door, movement, but it took almost a minute until Jean opened the door only a gap and then stared at him.

“You're not going to ask me in?” Adam asked, smiling but with a qualimish feeling in his gut that something was wrong.

“What are you doing here?” Came the reply instead on an invitation into the suite.

Adam's brows twitched, muscles in his jaw moved.

“What?”

“What are you doing here, Adam?” Jean asked again.

“I...,” he started but then noticed little details that were not the was they were meant to be.

Jean's handsome face was covered in a sheen of sweat.

He was out of breath like he had seen him only a few times since they met. His black clothing was rumpled, the shirt pulled out of his pants at one side, the top buttons opened. The straight hair that was usually neat and styled, was out of place.

“What is going on here, Jean?” Adam asked and tried to push his way into the room, but Jean blocked him. “Jean?”

Adam looked over Jean's shoulder, and he felt a sudden rush of blood in his ears and his heart beating louder than it did only a moment before.

Behind Jean, Valenka, beautiful Valenka, was fixing the tight yellow dress she had been wearing earlier. Her skin was just as glistening with sweat as Jean's did, her perfect hair was a mess, her make-up smeared.

“What the fuck?” Adam whispered and then looked back up at Jean, who was still standing in the door as if to shield Valenka from Adam's view. “That's just...,” Adam laughed the way someone laughed when they did not want to believe what they saw. “That's just...Are you fucking kidding me?”

He glared up at Jean, who seemed confused by Adam's outburst. “You fuck me in the afternoon. Make me feel wanted. Make me feel like I mean something to you, and then you go and fuck _her_?”

Adam's voice grew louder, drawing the attention of the two other people who where still lingering in the hallway behind Adam and who Jean just now noticed and which made him significantly uncomfortable. “I thought...”

Adam's voice suddenly was a thin whisper.

What had he thought?

“God, I'm such an idiot,” he said and turned, not wanting to grant Jean, Le Chiffre, a moment more of his attention, but Jean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

“Adam, stop. It's not...”

Adam turned around and looked again into Jean's mismatched eyes, seeing a bloody tear escape again from the damaged one.

“No. You stop,” Adam hissed. “You stop pretending this,” he said, waving his hand between him and Jean. “You stop pretending this means anything more than a quick fuck with a twink. Doesn't she let you fuck her in the ass? Huh? Do you have an arrangement so you can get it from some willing slut once in a while when she doesn't put out? Wow, Jean, you make me feel so special.”

Adam turned again and went to the elevator, pressing the button.

Something in him wanted Jean to just vanish and never talk to him again.

Something in him wanted Jean to follow, tell him that he meant more than that, that he was more than a piece of meat to him. That he was...more.

But nothing happened.

When Adam stepped into the elevator, tears of anger, hurt and upset emotions in his eyes, he saw how Jean was still standing there in the hallway, Englishman and goddess behind him, all of them unmoving, watching how Adam left. 

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

“A straight flush. Four to the eight. The high hand. Monsieur Bond wins,” the croupier said.

The smile on Bond's face was that of a winner.

Smug.

Dominating.

Jean was staring at the cards on the table. Those cards that meant he had lost.His breathing seemed to have stopped completely, no sound was reaching his ears anymore. Only the sound of blood rushing through his head, nauseating and deafening, while people around him cheered and congratulated Bond.

He had lost.

Everything.

First Adam.

Now the game.

There was only one consequence from this.

He was dead before sunrise if he did not come up with a solution.

Fighting his emotion he got up without a word and left, already making a plan in his head, and when he formed a first clear thought, he turned to Kratt and told him what to do. 

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam had decided against returning to the game room and instead went to his own room again, ripping the clothing from his body, throwing the clothing onto the floor and almost running into the bathroom, where he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet before he went to take a long hot shower.

He felt so stupid, so lost.Nothing made sense anymore. And he could not even understand why he was so upset.It was not like he had a claim on Jean and jealousy was not at all like him.. They had just met two days ago, had good, no, great sex. Jean had brought him a stupid scarf. Nothing else.

And still it had felt like he had meant something to the other man, and only now he realized that Jean meant already something to him.

How stupid was that?

That man was a stranger.

One more scratch in his bed post.

Nobody of importance to him.

Adam's fist hit the wall of the shower and he cursed at the sharp pain. Great, another bruise that Jean was to blame for.

Glad that the shower spray hid the idiotic tears he was shedding, even if it was only from himself, he leaned against the backwall of the shower, eyes closed and not making any effort to wash himself. But that was not the reason why he was underneath the water. He wanted it to wash the memory of Jean's hands and lips on him away, wanted it to wash the memory of Jean's smiles and intense gaze away. Wanted it to wash Jean away.

Leaving the shower, he slipped back into his black shirt, and let himself plop down on his bed, curling into a ball and pulling the blanket around him.

He hated feeling stupid. It was not the first time, and it would not been the last time to feel this way, thanks to his sharp tongue and curiosity that made him a talented journalist but as a human being he knew he could be annoying.

Had he really imagined all that he and Jean had shared? That there was a strange intimacy even after such a short time?

Rolling onto his back and staring at the white ceiling of the room, he came to the conclusion that he was an idiot. Jean Duran, Le Chiffre, was a criminal. One of the worst kind. The file he had read on him gave hints that he was most probably connected even to Al Qaida, had his greedy banker fingers in 9/11, had funded and provided contacts for the worst war criminals the world had. Alone sharing something like intimacy, making himself vulnerable in front of him, allowing himself to feel in front of a man like that was a stupidity Adam had not thought himself to be able to. What had he expected? That he was the man to save Jean from himself? To turn him from the demon he was into a white winged angel? One that wept bloody tears?

Adam let out a moan.

God. He was such an idiot.

How in the world had he forgotten who he had been with?

Instead of seeing the egomaniac that a villain like this had to be, he had only seen the Albanian orphan with the blind eye and the almost shy smile.

“Idiot,” he said out loud. “Oh heavens, I'm such a bloody idiot.”

He closed his eyes against the fresh sting of tears in them.

“Idiot.”

The only good thing was that he would never see Jean Duran again in his life. And with that thought, he fell into an exhausted and dreamless sleep, before he was woken by his phone ringing.He frowned into the darkness of the room, not knowing how late it had gone in the meantime, and scrambled to find the phone in the pocket of his jacket that he had thrown somewhere on the floor.

Laying back down, looking at the unknown number on the display, he answered finally the call, surprised that the caller had not given up after a few rings and had not ended the call yet himself.

“Yes?” He asked, and waited a second, hearing someone breathe.

“Am I speaking to Adam Towers?”

Adam raised his brows.

“Well, mate, you called me, so you probably know very well who you've called,” he said, feeling the need to roll his eyes. “Yes, this is Adam Towers. Who do I have the pleasure to talk to?”

The man on the other end of the line took a breath. The voice Adam had heard was none he had heard before, and he was curious who had his number that only few people knew of.

“My name is Kratt, you don't know who I am. I work for Monsieur Le Chiffre,” the man with the soft and melodic voice said.

Adam tilted his head to the side.“

You're the small, bald man who has been shadowing me,” Adam said, causing the other man to sigh.

“Yes. That would be me,” he said. “Listen, I need you to listen carefully. Monsieur Le Chiffre...”

“Can we agree to not call him that?”

“Listen to me. Monsieur Duran is in trouble. Bad trouble,” Kratt said. “I have tried to stop him, and he is about to do something very stupid. I fear that it will be his death should he do what he has planned.”

Adam sat up, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Now you listen to me, Mister Kratt,” he said. “I don't know why I should care. Jean has used me and I mean nothing to him. His life...”

“He is doing this to safe not his but your life. He is trying to protect you. Mister Towers, you have a reputation, I did not take you for a stupid man,” Kratt continued, sounding annoyed. “We are running out of time.”

“What do you mean he is protecting me?”

Adam stood up and went to the window, looking outside and seeing a sleek black car on the parking space, a man standing next to it, holding a phone against his ear, a bald man in a black suit.

“He lost the game, Mister Towers. He owes the wrong people a lot of money,” Kratt said, looking up as if he was sensing that Adam was looking down to him. “I need you to stop him.”

“Stop him from doing what?”

“He has Bond,” Kratt said. “He has a bloody double-O agent in his hands and is going to kill him if he doesn't get the money from him.”

Bond.

The blond Englishman.

Suddenly, everything started to make sense.

“I'm coming.”

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam run at Kratt's side, someone he had gotten to know on the short drive to the place where Jean was meant to be, as a sarcastic and quite witty man, who, once prompted was very eloquent and not at all the silent henchman of a criminal that Adam had thought him to me. He was not much older than him and of a similar height and build, and the two men somehow connected the moment that Adam had realized that Kratt was indeed worried about his employer's safety.

They rain through the dark tunnels until they reached a steel door that Kratt opened.

"You have to stop him," he said once again. "We'll otherwise all be dead within the hour."

Adam nodded.

"I still don't know how to do that magic trick, but I'll try. I promise," he said and stepped through the opened door, looking at the scenery that was unfolding in front of him.

Bond sat on a chair, which was odd. Jean standing beside him. Again, Jean was sweating. Adam frowned when he noticed the rope Jean was holding in his hand, and made a hesitant and silent step towards him, one hand already raised. A rope? That made no sense. Bond was already tied to a chair. Naked. Why would Jean need an additional rope?

"You've taken good care of your body," Jean said. "Such. A. Waste."

Jean swung the rope and hit the underside of the chair with the knot at it's end. Bond moaned, Adam's eyes widened in realization.

"You know, I never understood all these elaborate tortures," Jean said while taking casually off his bow tie. "It's the simplest thing to cause more pain than a man can possibly endure."

Again, Jean - no, this was Le Chiffre - hit the underside with the rope, hitting Bond forceful against his balls. The moan that he let out previously turned into a scream.

"And of course, it's not only the immediate agony, but the knowledge that if you do not yield soon enough there will be little left to identify you as a man," Le Chiffre continued while taking off his jacket.

Adam's blood turned to ice in his veins, listening to the cruelty his lover was capable of.

Le Chiffre took a stool and sat down next to Bond, slapping him and looking annoyed by the blood that had gotten on his fingers.

"The only question remains...," Jean continued. "Will you yield in time? I want the money."

When Bond showed no further reaction, he got back up, hit him again with the rope. The screams of the agent growing louder now, showing his pain and agony.

"Miss Lynd will give me the account number, if she hasn't already."

Adam knit his brows together, but still standing close to the door, unnoticed by the other two men who now that Le Chiffre had sat back down, stared into each other's eyes.

"So, all I need from you is the password. The password, please."

"I've got an itch. Down there," Bond whispered, surprising both Le Chiffre and Adam. "Would you mind."

Le Chiffre, who was bathed in his own sweat, struggling with something, got back up, got ready to...

"No!" Adam yelled, making both Bond and Le Chiffre look into his direction. "Stop!"

Adam walked slowly into their direction, hands raised as if to calm a dangerous animal, and when he looked into Le Chiffre's eyes, he saw that he was just that. A feral animal. Nothing left of the gentle and intelligent man he had gotten to know. How wrong he had been.

"Please, you have to stop," he said. "They are on the way. Someone called White."

Le Chiffre tilted the head a little.

"White?"

"Please. Get out of here," Adam said. "I beg you."

He was fighting against a stupid tear.

"Jean," he said. "Le Chiffre. Take Bond and get out of here before it's too late. Kratt has received the intel on Lynd you inquired. She's working for Quantum, whatever that is."

"I need the money," Le Chiffre snarled at him.

"Fuck the bloody money!" Adam yelled. "And get the fuck out of here!"

After a moment of hesitation, Le Chiffre nodded and picked up his jacket, while Adam cut with his pocket knife the ropes that held Bond in place. The blond man he had only seen a few times, was only a shadow of himself after the torture he had endured. After the pain he was going through.

The pain inflicted by the man Adam had shared the bed with.

The man who had killed Jean Duran until only Le Chiffre had remained.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Motto of my stories:  
> It gets worse before it gets better.

Adam was again sitting at the edge of his bed. His hands still trembling and his whole body ice cold.

No matter how often he had showered, he was not getting any warmer, and he was not getting the scent of Bond’s blood off his fingers, could not forget what Le Chiffre had done to the agent. He wondered if he ever would learn how Bond was doing, if the damage to his body could be fixed and if he would be able to live the life of the healthy man he had been only a few hours ago. Before Le Chiffre had happened to him. But no. He would never hear the name James Bond again in his life, and if a gay slut like him had any chances, he prayed that God had the mercy that he would also never have to be confronted with Le Chiffre as long as he lived.

The rest of the night and most of the following day had been spent with associates of Bond who had interrogated him and forced him finally to sign paperwork that provided that no word of what had happened here would ever leave Montenegro. As if he had the urge to tell anyone that he had slept with the devil.

Only two days. It had been only two days that he had known Jean, and still his mind could not understand how the gentle man only had worn a mask in those shared hours.

He looked down at his hands, expecting to see there again stains of blood that he had not been able to wash off, but his hands were clean. The same pale hands he looks at every day. The same hands that had touched, caressed and held Jean.

A sob left his throat and he closed his eyes.

Jean.

His whole body shivered, his thoughts drifting away to the darkness of the room in which he had found him with Bond, but a knock on his room door distracted him. Probably another of the government agents who wanted him to sign more papers.

Sighing and slightly annoyed, he got up and opened the door without checking first, and stumbled a step back at the sight of the taller man who just took a whiff from his platinum inhaler.

“What the…,” Adam started but continued to take a few steps backwards, away from the other man, away from the danger that went with him.

“Can I come in?” Le Chiffre asked but did not wait for a reply and instead came into the room and closed the door behind him, locking it.

Adam’s eyes widened slightly.

“What do you want?” He asked, crossing the arms in front of his chest, a futile attempt to feel a little security.

“I want to talk to you,” the other answered.

Adam huffed.

“Talk. Sure,” he said, not hiding the sarcasm in his words. “I see you didn’t bring your friend the rope? Not planning on castrating me as well?”

“Adam…,” Le Chiffre said, making a slow step towards him, but Adam made another step back.

“Yes, that’s my name,” Adam only said.

“What I did had to be done.”

Adam narrowed his eyes.

“What had to be done?” He laughed, a sound that made Le Chiffre wince. “You fucking castrated a government agent, you asshole. Are you aware what you did to him? Do you even still notice what you do, or have you lost the last bit of humanity that separates you from a monster?”

“Adam,” Le Chiffre began again. “I tried to get hold of the money. It was necessary.”

“Money. Yes. Money,” Adam said flatly. “How are you even not in custody? Shouldn’t MI6 have you locked up in the Tower or something by now?”

“I made a deal,” Le Chiffre only said.

“A deal. They let you run free,” Adam snipped his fingers. “Just like this?”

“I had some information that they wanted, and I gave it to them in exchange for my freedom.”

Adam nodded.

“Wow. I just lost every trust in our government when they let someone like you go free.”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Adam said. “Now that we’ve talked, please use your precious freedom and get the fuck out of my room.”

The younger man tried to be brave when he went forward, grabbed Le Chiffre’s black sleeve and pushed him towards the door, but struggled there with trembling fingers to open the lock, so close to the man that had been his lover that he could smell again his aftershave and skin. Another shiver went down his spine, and he closed the eyes when his mind played a trick on him and made him remember the moment they had spent together, alone.

“Adam,” Le Chiffre whispered and leaned down to him, so close that Adam felt his breath on his ear.

“Don’t,” Adam whispered with still closed eyes, wanting to lean back, to step back, to run away, but instead he leaned into the space of the other man, craving to be close.

He frowned at his own reaction, trying to shake it off, but that moment, Le Chiffre had just grabbed him and pushed his back against the room door, causing Adam to gasp and open his eyes that were already blown wide.

For a moment they stared at each other, but then their lips met in a crushing and consuming kiss, hungry and passionate. Their teeth clicked against each other, their tongues snaked around each other. Adam moaned and tried to find hold on Le Chiffre’s shoulders while already pulling on his clothing, wanting skin, needing skin. Needing Le Chiffre’s skin and desiring the memory of feeling Jean.

A few of the buttons on Le Chiffre’s shirt came off when Adam’s meddling fingers grew impatient and he finally just ripped the piece of clothing open.

Trembling fingers grazed through thick chest hair, causing both men to moan into each other’s mouths, while Le Chiffre lifted Adam off his feet as if he weighed not more than a feather and Adam wrapped automatically his legs around his hips.

“Too many clothes,” Adam whispered between too kisses and Le Chiffre turned with him on his heels and threw Adam onto the close bed, making him bounce on the mattress while both immediately started to take their clothes off, not taking their eyes off the other man.

Finally free of anything that could still separate them, Le Chiffre shoved himself on top of Adam, who again wrapped both legs and arms around him, wanting Le Chiffre as close as possible, wanting to feel and experience everything he was willing to give him.

“Please,” he whispered, while Le Chiffre sucked another love bite into the skin of his shoulders, matching the hickeys of the last times that he was still wearing.

Adam was overwhelmed with feelings, physical and emotional. He arched his neck back, biting his own lip when Le Chiffre went down on his body, sucking desperately on his sensitive nipples until they had turned into hard little pebbles, and went further downwards, licking around his belly button and finally nuzzling the soft, trimmed pubic hair, his chin rubbing over the hardened shaft that was begging for attention, and finally Le Chiffre licked a wet stripe along the length, making Adam curse and moan loudly, one hand in Le Chiffre’s short hair. Enveloped in the wet heat of Le Chiffre’s mouth, he was so close to his own climax that he felt like an inexperienced teenager. He did not want to come now, not before he had the pleasure of being filled and wrecked, not until he felt the pulsing and throbbing gorgeous cock in his ass.

Le Chiffre’s gentle fingers caressed his drawn up balls, making his eyes roll back in his head. Adam spread his legs further, while Le Chiffre circled the tight hole behind his balls with the tip of one finger, the opening eagerly twitching at the contact, all the while Adam’s tried to hold his hips as still as possible and stop himself from fucking Le Chiffre’s mouth and throat or he would come within seconds.

Adam’s toes were curled when Le Chiffre’s finger pushed inside him, raw and almost a little painful, but oh so good, fucking him slowly open with the single digit, twisting a little and finally hitting his prostate.

“Jean!” Adam moan-screamed and hated himself for having used the name that he wanted to forget. “Goddammit, get going.”

“Eager,” Le Chiffre commented when he let Adam’s glistening and rock hard shaft slip from his lips, kissing the tip one more time.

“Shut the fuck up and get inside me,” Adam hissed and looked down his body, where Le Chiffre, that gorgeous, dangerous man, was just now pressing a second finger into him, using his spit for lube, and Adam let out another curse.

Their eyes were locked into each other while Le Chiffre scissored him open, agonizingly slow, and Adam tried everything to forget who he was willingly sharing his bed with again. He wanted him to be Jean, and not the man who had tortured Bond without hesitation. He wanted his Jean back, with the cute smile and the gentle soul. His Jean.

Again, the fingers inside him hit his prostate, making his cock leak pre-cum and him bite his lip to not scream more filth, and finally, Le Chiffre pushed a third finger into him, stretching him wider and preparing him for himself. Every fiber of Adam’s being was on alert, every cell of his body was filled with need and wanton desire for the man that was kneeling between his legs, the hard cock touching his thigh, a promise of the fullness he would be gladly accepting in hopefully only moments, while his own hands were cramped into the sheets of the bed, fighting something that he could not put into words.

Slowly, Le Chiffre freed Adam’s body of his fingers, leaving him open and vulnerable, before he moved over Adam, his own shaft in a hand and pressing himself slowly, again wet with spit, into the still so tight opening to all the pleasure Le Chiffre had ever desired.

Adam held his breath while the other man pushed inside him, also not breathing, until he bottomed out and his balls slapped against Adam’s ass. He held still, looking into Adam’s eyes that were black with passion, leaving no doubt about what he wanted.

The first thrusts were slow, yet filled with an intensity that was unknown to Adam, feeling every vein of the man inside him, who soon picked up speed and started to fuck Adam within an inch of his life. Soon both men were covered in sweat, their lips glued together, moans, little screams and the slapping, wet sound of their bodies meeting filling the room, which seemed to grow warmer and warmer. Adam was panting soundly, drinking Le Chiffre’s breath, drowning in his scent and the scorching feeling of his skin on his own. His hands roamed over the body that was so much more toned than his banker suits and elegant movements would give away, the strained muscles of his shoulders and back, the strong arms that were able to hold him safe and close, while the skilled hands of Le Chiffre touched his face and the silver and the brown eye looked down at him in wonder.

Suddenly, Le Chiffre pulled out of him, but before Adam could protest, he had been turned onto his stomach and pulled back to the edge of the bed, where Le Chiffre pushed back inside him without preamble and continued to fuck him with a heart-stopping intensity. Le Chiffre pulled him up, until his back leaned against the furry chest of his lover, his hands wandering over his slimmer body, teasing his nipples again, until one of his hands wrapped around his hard cock and stroked him until his moans turned into blabbering and begs to let him finish.

“So beautiful,” Le Chiffre whispered into his ear. “Breathtaking, Adam, you’re breathtaking. You’re so good for me.”

Adam leaned his head back onto Le Chiffre’s shoulder, feeling how they both started to move more irregularly, losing control and finally, Le Chiffre pushed him forward and when his hands found leverage on the bed, he came almost untouched, his whole body cramping and trembling, hating and loving the moment of complete loss of control over his overstimulated senses, and felt at the same time how Le Chiffre came inside him, filling him with hot seed.

They sank down on the bed, still connected, and only slowly Le Chiffre allowed himself to slip from Adam’s heat, drops of his cum escaping with him. Adam turned onto his back, covering his eyes with one arm, knowing that Le Chiffre was next to him, holding him casually in his arms, the man who just fucked him without protection. Adam had always been so careful about things like this, and now he had lost the pitiful rest of his brain just because Le Chiffre fucked him.

Le Chiffre.

God.

What had he done?

It took minutes until his breathing had returned to close to normal and he sat up, grabbing his jeans from the floor and slipping inside them, watched by Le Chiffre.

“I have to be out of the room until 11,” he said and pulled the t-shirt over his messy curls.

Le Chiffre nodded and picked up his shirt and pants himself and got into them.

“It would not be a problem to pay your room for an additional day,” Le Chiffre said, the voice hoarse.

Adam did not look at him and made himself busy with tying his shoes and getting into his coat.

“Adam?”

Closing his suitcase and taking it off the stool, Adam hesitated for a second and then went to the door, his legs unsteady, and every muscle in his body aching in the most pleasant and agonizing way.

“Goodbye, Monsieur Le Chiffre,” Adam said, the voice serious and without showing the storm that was happening behind his eyes, betrayed by the wetness on his cheeks.

“Once I was Jean to you.”

Adam looked back over his shoulder, saw the other man sitting there, still getting dressed. And for a moment that man looked like Jean. Almost sad, vulnerable, lonely, and somewhat lost. Like he only waited for Adam to turn back around and fall back into his arms.

But that would not happen.

Adam blinked unwanted tears away.

“No, Jean was human. You are not. You’re a monster, Monsieur Le Chiffre. And I thank God if I never have to see you again in my life.”

With those words, Adam left the room, carrying his suitcase and the bag with his suits, the same way that he had arrived a few days ago.

And part of him knew that he left behind not only the horror that Le Chiffre meant to him.

He also left behind Jean Duran, who sat there speechless, weeping a bloody tear.

He left behind man he had fallen in love with and who had broken his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of the Casino Royale timeline....but of course this is not the end of the story.
> 
> Onwards to Basic Instinct 2, Jean and Adam meeting again, and the introduction of another character that has been mentioned in the one shots...! 😉


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Start of the Basic Instinct 2 timeline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First dialogue part taken from Basic Instinct 2

_**London** _

_**2 years later** _

Adam was annoyed that the guards did not leave him into the court room, now that he was so close to learning the truth about that asshole of a shrink that had once been married to the sweetest co-worker he ever had. That Glass believed that he was Denise’s lover made it just more fun for him to provoke and rouse the other man until one day he would snap and then probably tell him the truth about his most interesting patient.

Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he waited until the hearing was over and people were leaving the room, and as soon as he saw the man he had been waiting for, he made almost casual looking steps to get closer to him.

“Dr. Michael Glass. What a big thing you are all of a sudden,” he said, his voice cheerful but not without a hint of sarcasm.

Glass looked down at him, in every meaning those words had, and raised a brow.

“What are you doing here, Adam?” Glass said, putting on his coat, clearly annoyed by Adam’s presence. “Don't say you're writing about Tramell.”

“A sexy, omnipotent killer with a Random House contract why would I write that?” Adam replied amused. Tramell was something else. Beautiful and every man with a working brain knew within seconds after meeting the author that she was dangerous. Not that Adam did not like that little details about her.

“You don't know she's a killer.”

“No, but I hope she is, though. I mean, I pray to God she is. By the way, I hear you were brilliant in there,” Adam continued, subtly changing the topic and walking beside Glass, who was so clearly baffled by his presence that it was a pleasure to annoy him further. Adam could not stop smiling his most charming smile. “You're so lucid sometimes, it's just disgusting. You thought bout daytime television? Denise always says you were born for the small screen.”

Now, that was a topic that Glass for sure would jump, Adam had no doubt about the other man. Oh, he was so easy to read.

“And how is my wife these days? Having fun?” Glass asked, stopping on the boardwalk outside the court building.

Ah, there was the implication again that Adam and Denise were a thing. Adam was clearly having fun with this.

“Ex-wife, Michael. Ex-wife,” he corrected him, rubbing his jaw. “While we're chatting about killers...is there any chance of talking about George Cheslav?”

Glass turned to Adam, utter surprise, almost shock on his face.

“Who told you about Cheslav? Denise?”

“That's got to be any shrink's worst nightmare. A patient in your care suddenly runs amok, beats his girlfriend to death with a brick.”

“That was seven years ago, why talk about it now?” Glass tried to play it down, waving a taxi over.

“Not quite seven, actually. Seven in July. But you talked to him twice a week. He never indicated he'd harm the girl?”

“I don't talk about my patients,” Glass gave the typical statement that every psychiatrist would give at this point, much to Adam’s disappointment.

“Cheslav's dead. Can't you talk about them when they're dead?” Adam continued, still hoping he would get something out of the other man.

“No, not even when they're dead,” the psychiatrist replied, got into the taxi that had stopped in front of them, and left Adam alone standing there.

Adam smiled. That reaction showed that Glass indeed had something to hide, and he would find out what.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam had been working on the article he was preparing for publication the whole afternoon and evening. That Glass had once again brushed him off annoyed him, but it also told him that there was more to the Cheslav case than the public files gave away. He had never liked Glass. There was a reason why Denise and he were separated, but he had never inquired further, wanting private things to remain private. That way, she would not ask about his own past, why he was fired from his old job after not providing the required article two years ago. It had been his reputation that had gotten him a good job with Urbane Magazine, and they liked how nosy and smart assed he was, uncovering things usually with those in power or of authority. The job paid well, and he could lead a good life this way. Much better actually than it had been before…before Montenegro.

He leaned back in his office chair and looked at the screen of his laptop, where the file with the last interview he had done with a police officer was visible. The information the intimidated man had provided against a little bribe was…interesting. Adam chewed on his pen and moved his foot, trying to concentrate. Something about Glass always put him off. Something was off about the man. He made a note to talk to Denise tomorrow and ask her, of course strictly confidentially, about her ex-husband.

His doorbell stopped his train of thought and with a huff he got up, opening the door and was faced with the man he had just been thinking about.

“Michael, how nice you visit me,” Adam sassed. “I wish you would have given me a call and I would have made myself a little more presentable.”

“Can I come in?”

Adam frowned, a flashback to another man who two years ago had spoken those words, the last time they had met. What was it about that man that he now and again sneaked his way back into his dreams and thought, that he compared every lover he had taken since him to the encounters they had experienced together?

Shaking off the thought, he stepped aside and let Glass in.

The psychiatrist looked around, a judgmental brow raised, obviously Adam’s apartment, dark and moody, cramped with trinkets and all the little things he did never want to part with, was not to his taste.

“What can I do for you, Glass?” Adam asked, crossing his arms in front of his plaid shirt. “Have you decided to talk about your patient after all?”

Adam’s smile was charming, but behind that he sensed that something was wrong.

“I want to talk about Denise,” Glass replied.

“Denise,” Adam repeated, brows knit together. “Your ex-wife Denise.”

Glass gave a nod.

“What is there to talk?” Adam asked.

“Keep your dirty hands off my wife,” Glass only hissed.

Adam laughed, could not hide his amusement.

“Seriously? You want me to keep my hands off your ex-wife,” Adam laughed again and turned around, closing the lid of his laptop. “For one, she is your _ex_ -wife. As in, no longer your wife, and you have no word in what she does with whoever she wants. Second, Michael, I’m so fucking gay you can’t even imagine how gay I am. I’d rather suck your cock than touch your ex-wife’s pussy or tits. So, point taken. Might I interest you in leaving my place now, because this is fucking ridiculous? If you don’t have any information to give to me, I’d really appreciate if you leave.”

Glass grabbed Adam’s shoulder, turning the smaller man around.

The blue eyes of the psychiatrist were cold, somewhat lacking something…human. Within seconds, Adam understood one thing – Michael Glass was not master of his own actions anymore. Something was wrong.

“You have humiliated me long enough,” Glass hissed. “Stealing another man’s wife.”

Adam frowned at him.

“Did you just listen to me? I’m gay. Which part of that information did not reach your brain? Please leave now.”

Adam wanted to walk past Glass and open his door, making a clear statement that he wanted him gone, but Glass’ finger dug deep into his shoulder and before Adam could react, Glass had punched him, pushed him.

He stumbled backwards, surprised by the blunt force, and then Glass pulled him back up. Adam tried to push him away, but he was almost a head smaller and even being as agile and fit as he was, he had no chance against the much taller, stronger man. He fell onto his bed, turned and tried to kick against Glass to keep him away, but Glass was on him and pulled him back up.

Like a ragdoll, Adam was suddenly in Glass’ arms, held steady with his back against the other’s front, being choked with one arm. He dug his nails into the arm, tried to fight, kicked and tried to scream, but the limb that was being pressed against his throat, suffocated him. Adam’s knees gave out beneath him, all strength leaving him with his breath.

His heartbeat was racing, fighting against being stopped.

Oh God.

Adam coughed, sobbed, spit left his mouth, tears of panic were streaming down his face. Still he tried to push Glass off him, tried to scratch him, tried to hit him with hands that went weaker and weaker with each passing second.

He did not want to die.

Please Lord, not like this.

Not like this.

Glass put more force against his throat and a last sob left Adam.

The life left his panicked eyes, and the last thing he saw was a green scarf that was laying on his bed.

His last thought was: Jean.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Le Chiffre stepped out of the shed and tried to steady his breathing in the too hot and too damp late morning air. It was getting already way too hot to be comfortable for his tailored suits and his asthma was not agreeing with the climate either. The agreement with the rebels though, whatever had ridden him to do business again with the insane warlord he had done business with years ago already, had went much better than he had anticipated and would produce a nice compensation for his work in the end.

Taking a drag of his inhaler that he had pulled from his jacket he saw how Kratt approached him, holding a piece of paper in his hands. His bodyguard turned confidant turned friend looked distressed, not wearing his usual ice cold mask that made him appear more intimidating than he really was.

Le Chiffre took the paper off his hands.

“What is it?” He asked without looking at it first.

“It’s a mail from a contact in Europe,” Kratt said while Le Chiffre unfolded the paper and read the few words that were written on it.

He turned pale.

“When?”

“We just received it.”

Le Chiffre nodded.

“I need a phone,” he said, and Kratt pulled a cell phone from his pocket, handing it over to his employer, who nodded.

He dialed a number he had memorized and not often needed before. But this was something different, he needed to make this call and re-activate the contact to an old acquaintance.

After the sixth ring, the call was finally answered.

“Bond,” a tired and a little hoarse voice said, obviously he had woken him up.

“I need your help,” Le Chiffre said without prelude, the voice as stern as always, not giving away the turmoil in which Le Chiffre thought himself to be.

The man at the other end of the line said nothing for a moment and Le Chiffre heard the rustling of fabric.

Bond turned in his bed, making sure that the other person in his bed was not disturbed in their sleep, but the mop of dark hair was laying without movement on the pillow behind them, the other softly snoring.

“Jean, is that you?” Bond then asked.

“You know it is,” Le Chiffre said. “I need your help.”

Bond sat up in his bed, blond hair sticking into every direction.

“I’m not in the service anymore, Jean, you know that.”

“I did not say I need a secret service agent. I need a contact in London. I need someone to take care of something, and I can only trust you.”

Bond nodded, rubbing his face.

“Wha’s goin’ on?” Another voice said behind him, the voice soft.

“Go back to sleep, love,” Bond whispered, turned a little and kissed the sleepy face that was frowning behind him, scrunching the slightly freckled nose, the grey-green eyes not quite awake.

Le Chiffre rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I need you, James,” he repeated.

“Okay,” Bond said. “Brief me. What is this about?”

Jean took a deep breath, his mind not having completely processed the information Kratt had given him.

Could it really be true?

“It’s about Adam,” he said, the voice slowly breaking. “He’s dead. I need you to find out who did this and end them.”


	11. Chapter 11

Bond found it surprisingly easy to find out who was behind Adam’s murder. He connected only a few dots, first having thought it might have been someone Adam had written an article about. That author Trammel maybe, but for one the woman had an alibi, second, he had very rarely met a woman with this little empathy and true fire, as contradictory that may seemed considering her reputation of a femme fatale. Adam had been killed in a crime of passion, not sexual, but with force and temperament. Also, Adam was maybe small, but he was not weak. He had been overpowered easily as the police report showed that he had required, and Bond doubted that a woman would have been able to do this without Adam previously being weakened somehow. There were no drugs or alcohol in Adam’s body. He was clean of any intoxicating substances.

Which lead him to the conclusion that Adam’s killer had been a man. Maybe a former lover, which could be a plausible lead. He had never gotten to know Adam well, had him only seen, admired his beauty, and only spoken once to him when they had escaped after the torture he had endured on Le Chiffre’s hands, when Adam had saved him. Adam had been intimidated by the whole truth about Le Chiffre’s character and silenced by the situation, but he had still gotten to know him as a witty and loyal man. He may was able to upset someone, but he doubted that he upset someone so much to kill him. The crime scene was supposed to look like a sexually influenced accident. Strangulation by a belt around his neck. The file spoke of autoerotic asphyxiation. A possibility, but he had seen the crime scene photographs. He had seen Adam’s eyes. And he had seen one thing mirrored in them. Fear. Adam had been scared of what was happening. No, this had not been an accident. This had been murder.

Bond had spoken to co-workers of Adam. And had spoken to a journalist called Denise Glass, who had found him. He had wondered how close she had been to him, but she assured him, who pretended to be a police officer investigating, that they had only been casual friends, nothing else. But there was her ex-husband. Dr. Michael Glass, who had been jealous of Adam, assuming he was his ex-wife’s lover.

It had been so easy for Bond to find out that the good doctor had no alibi to speak of. That Adam had tried to get information about another case out of the psychiatrist, and soon, he was certain without a doubt about two things.

One, the Metropolitan Police Service had no fucking clue how to do their job.

Two, Dr. Michael Glass had killed Adam Towers.

Gaining entry to the apartment in which Glass lived since his divorce had been easy. The doctor had no security system, which was plain stupid considering he was living in a city with a high crime rate, and Bond heard as soon as he had entered that the TV was turned on and sparse light was coming from the living room.

He made no sound when he opened the almost closed door wider and took the scenery in for a moment.

Dr. Glass was sitting in an armchair, the eyes on the TV screen and one hand in his pants. How fitting that he found the man who had killed Adam while jerking off to a porn movie that was playing on his TV and from what he saw not even a good one. Bond could not help but smile a little lopsided and waited a moment, watching how the doctor was moving his hand, a little unskilled even while pleasuring himself, and so focused on the TV that he did not notice the other man who had entered his home and was about to take his life.

“Good evening, Dr. Glass,” Bond said and the doctor almost jumped, turning towards the door, his hand still frozen in his pants, shocked as if he was a little boy who had been found watching porn by his parents and not an adult man who could do in his own home whatever he wanted.

“Wha…? Who are you?”

“My name is not important,” Bond said, raising his right hand and aiming his gun at the doctor’s head. “Kind regards from Adam Towers.”

Realization dawned on the doctor’s face, but before he could say a single word, Bond had pulled the trigger twice in a quick series and two holes appeared on the forehead of the other man, killing him instantly.

“And kind regards from Le Chiffre.”

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

The townhouse Bond owned was almost dark when he returned home an hour later and as soon as he opened the door and went inside, an orange cat came running and rubbed itself around his legs.

“Hey boy,” Bond said, leaning down and patting the cats head, who was purring loudly at his homecoming.

He shrugged out of his shoes and the dark wool coat, putting it into the wardrobe, and picked the cat up, who happily closed the green eyes in bliss, purring and rubbing his head against his chest and the white t-shirt he was wearing. Bond himself kissed the cat and rubbed his own nose in the soft fur while walking towards the living room in which a light was still turned on.

“Is it done?” Came the question from the other person who lived in the house.

Bond nodded.

“It is, yes.”

The other nodded as well, holding a mud with steaming tea in both hands, the legs pulled up. It looked like a casual posture, but Bond saw immediately that the other was uncomfortable and nervous.

“You don’t like it.”

“That you killed someone and brush it of like it means nothing? Yes, you are right. I don’t like it.”

Bond went to the sofa and sat down close to the other so that their legs touched.

“I know you don’t. I will not apologize for something that had to be done, love,” he said, leaning over and kissed the visible pale neck, prompting the cat to change seats and sneak over onto the lap of the other, who started to tickle the cat’s ears. “Where’s Athena?” Bond asked.

“I have no idea,” came the reply. “She is probably either hiding, eating something she should not, or being a bad example for her brother.”

Bond leaned down and kissed the cat again, making the other chuckle who never would have thought that tough 007 was such a cat-person.

“You’re a good boy, are you, Ares?” He asked the cat, who meowed like he always did when Bond talked to him, which made them both laugh. “It will always be a riddle to me why you are named after the God of War and your sister after the Goddess of Wisdom. It should be the other way round.”

“He’s a boy. I could hardly call him Athena.”

Bond rolled his eyes, taking the mug into his hands and taking a sip. Earl Grey with honey. Perfect for a cold evening.

“Remind me again why you helped,” the brunet next to him asked, leaning against him.

“Because Adam Towers saved my life,” he replied without thought.

“Yes. That. But it’s not Adam Towers you help but the man who tortured you two years ago.”

Bond hated that that was a good point, and one he would not be able to erase easily.

“Love, he had his reasons, and it’s not like I have forgiven him.”

The other sighed deeply, the head on Bond’s shoulder.

“Oh, I hope you did not. I got to see your precious balls this morning up close, and let me tell you, they do not the way they are supposed to,” was the sarcastic reply.

Bond winced, aware that the scarring would mark him for the rest of his life.

“So, let’s try this again. Remind me why you helped Jean Duran with this?”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that name,” Bond said with a hint of annoyance in his voice. “And the answer is, I would do anything to save you if your life would be threatened. I would cut off anyone’s balls with a rusty spoon.”

“He did that for…love?”

Bond nodded, knowing that the thought that Jean Duran, Le Chiffre, was able to love anything but his bank account was abstract and almost impossible.

“He did.”

“For Adam Towers.”

“Yes,” Bond replied, remembering how Le Chiffre had looked at Adam when he had stopped the torture, the shame and fear of rejection. He had met Le Chiffre several times since that night, and he had gotten to know him as someone with a surprising integrity and passion once you knew him. He had seen how the mere mention of Adam had made Le Chiffre fidgety, which had amused Bond, still thinking that one day, the two of them could be reunited. But that option was gone now. “That is why I understand why he did what he did, and that is why I helped him avenge Adam.”

The other nodded and turned the laptop that stood on the coffee table, the screen flickering in the dim light of the otherwise dark room. Bond looked at the screen, showing him a file that did not look like it belonged to either’s work.

He rolled his eyes.

“What have you done now?” He asked exasperated.

“Read.”

And Bond did.

His brilliant blue eyes widened, then he rubbed his chin with one hand.

“What the fuck?” He whispered.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Only minutes later, Jean Duran sat below deck of his yacht that was in the Caribbean at the moment, preparing another deal. His mind was still absent since he had gotten the news only a few days ago that Adam had died.

Adam.

How the young man still was on his mind after he had not seen him for two years was beyond his reason.

Kratt had ignored that he had locked himself in the bathroom of his private jet on their way back to the yacht after the Asian deal had been secured, but he was certain that he knew that he had sobbed like a baby behind closed doors. He had not ever, not for a single moment believed that he would see Adam again. Had not dared to dream that he would hold him again, that he would be able to accept who Le Chiffre was. But the knowledge, the certainty of never seeing him again, that he was a rotting corpse in some simple grave somewhere in England, it hurt. It hurt so damn much.

He still could not wrap his mind around the fact that Adam was gone, and with him, or so if felt, every hope for happiness in his shallow, stupid, money ruled and criminal life. There was nothing that reminded him of Adam except for the one photograph he had of him, taken while Adam had been sleeping in his bed, so gorgeous and almost innocent looking. Jean had stared at the photo for hours, memorizing again every line of Adam’s body, every lash, every curl. Remembered his beautiful multicolored eyes, this array of greens and blues. Enchanting. Breathtaking.

He had tried to forget him, knowing that it was futile. That he would always remember the one single man, almost a boy, who had looked behind the guise that Le Chiffre was, that cold mask without emotion and only calculating, and had seen Jean, who he had been hiding for years. That English boy had managed to do something that had been impossible. And now he was gone.

He looked again at the computer screen on which the files he needed to consider for this deal were open when a sound indicated an incoming message. Seeing that the email’s sender was James, he knew that the favor he had asked of him was done. Still, he opened the email.

There was a single file attached to the mail, and the email contained nothing but three words.

_Adam is alive._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Mister Bond 2.0

The first thing Adam noticed was a terrible headache and a feeling of complete confusion. The sounds that reached his ears where nauseating though distant. There were voices, the clattering of something metallic, the beeping of a machine. Then there was a weirdly clean scent, chlorine and something else, which made his headache only worse. His eyelids fluttered, but he was not able to open them, as if they were too heavy and opening his eyes was an activity that was just too much for him. His throat hurt so much. His throat.

He tried to scream. The memory of someone choking him returning. Glass. But something was in his mouth, stopping him from shouting for help, for something. The bed he was lying in had rough sheets and his hands tried to grip something to hold onto, panicking and filled with fear.

Suddenly there was a hand in his, holding it.

“Sssh, calm down,” someone said. A soft voice he had never heard before, young, unmistakably British with a posh accent almost like his own. “I’m getting a doctor, okay? Don’t panic, Adam. Everything will be okay. I promise.”

Then the hand was gone and he heard steps moving away. Someone was leaving him. He wanted to scream to stay, please stay, to not leave him alone helpless, but he still could not make a sound. Only slowly he could open his eyes, and he was blinded by a cold light that hurt his eyes so he closed them again, and everything went dark and silent within seconds.

The second time he woke up from a dreamless sleep, the headache was still present but not as hammering as before, and this time he was able to open his eyes slowly.

Again, he was blinded by fluorescent lamps above him and he blinked a few times, moaning a little, but there still was something in his throat that muted him, making him unable to make more sounds than moans. Close to a panic again, there was again that soft voice.

“Hey there again,” someone to his right said and he turned slowly his aching head and was faced with a stranger who smiled, but then got up from his chair and went outside, making Adam frown.

A minute later, a doctor and a nurse appeared, but a somewhat relieved expression on their faces.

“Nice to finally meet you, Sir,” the doctor said, a tall bald man with a kind smile. “You have been in a short coma for a few days, and we are very happy that you managed to wake up on your own.”

A coma?

Adam remembered again Glass and what he had done to him. The fucker tried to kill him! His eyes widened a little.

“We are going to remove the tube now from your throat, it is going to hurt a little, and your throat will be sore for a while,” the doctor explained. “Your vitals are very pleasing and we are positive that you will make a full recovery.”

Adam moaned, and moaned some more when the tube was slowly removed, chocked and gagged at the plastic tube pulled from his throat. Everything hurt terribly, but he tried to be patient and stared at the doctor and nurse the whole time, not seeing anymore the stranger who had been with him.

“So,” the nurse finally said. “Well done.”

“I have a few questions to ask, Sir,” the doctor said. “Do you know your name?”

Adam raised a brow.

“Yeah? I guess?” He replied.

The doctor chuckled.

“And what is it?”

“Adam Michael Towers,” he replied with a scratchy voice. “My dad’s name was Henry, my mother is Margaret. I have a little sister called Eve, I know, very creative. She’s studying to be a lawyer, waste of time if you ask me.”

The doctor looked at him, not having expected this flood of information.

“Do you know what year it is?”

“I do. I also know that Elizabeth the second is ruling our lovely country, at least I think she still does. Could I get something to drink?”

“We can get you some ice cubes,” the nurse said. “Your throat took damage and swallowing might not be a good idea just yet.”

“Glass. He tried to kill me,” Adam said. “You need to inform the police. He tried to kill me.”

The doctor nodded.

“We will do so, Mister Towers,” he said. “Don’t worry. We want you to relax for now and not worry too much. Your priority should now be on your recovery.”

They did a few more memory tests, checking his vision and reflexes, which all seemed to work just fine, considering that he had almost died. The doctor, Doctor Lewis, told Adam that he would have to stay a while longer for surveillance reasons and that as soon as he would be feeling better the police would like to talk to him. Adam agreed, still a little scared and nervous without showing those emotions.

“Rest as much as you can, Mister Towers,” Doctor Lewis said. “The injuries you suffered did some damage, but nothing that cannot be fixed. Do not worry and try to sleep a little.”

And with that they left again.

A moment later, the stranger who had previously sat at Adam‘s bed reappeared, carrying a bowl that he put on the nightstand. When Adam turned his head, his throat indeed hurting on the outside as well as on the inside, he saw that a few ice cubes were in it.

“Do you want me to give you one?” The stranger asked, and Adam nodded, accepting the cube that the young man put between his lips.

The cold liquid felt so good that Adam moaned and closed his eyes again. When he opened them again, he saw how the stranger sat back down and take a tablet to read something on it. He though noticed that Adam was watching him, and looked back up over the rim of the glasses he was wearing.

He was cute. Around Adam’s age, maybe a little younger. Slender on the thin side, with large green eyes that were well hidden by the glasses, and a mop of curly black hair that made even Adam’s curls jealous, unruly and untamable. He blinked a little nervous, and everything about him, from the dark rimmed glasses to the striped jumper screamed “nerd” at Adam.

Again, the stranger blinked and wet his lush, red lips with his tongue.

Adam swallowed the water the ice cube had melted into and furrowed his brows. His nose itched and he was considering a moment to rip that plastic thing out of his nostrils, but understood that is provided additional oxygen or whatever for him.

“Who are you?”

“Oh,” the stranger said, the eyes wide with surprise and embarrassment as if he had forgotten that Adam did not know him. “Oh, I’m sorry.” He put the tablet away and moved to the edge of his chair, leaning a little closer. “I’m Quentin Lynd.” He closed his eyes and shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I mean Bond. Quentin Bond, it’s still quite new.”

Adam blinked at him. Both last names the man had given him ringing a very loud bell in his memories.

“Bond? Lynd? What…?”

“Well,” he said. “It’s quite a long story actually, but I guess you have nothing better to do, so…”

“Quentin. Love. Stop torturing our friend,” came a voice from the door and Adam’s head snapped around, making him moan in the stinging pain the sudden movement caused.

“James fucking Bond,” he whispered. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“For once, stopping my husband from getting either him or you an aneurysm,” Bond said and walked around the hospital bed Adam was laying in, towards the younger man in the chair where he bent down to press a kiss into the curls. “And more important, seeing how you are doing. Quentin texted me that you woke up earlier.”

Adam still only stared at the two men. Then he blinked and shrugged the confusion away.

“I’m lost.”

“You said he was smart,” the stranger, Quentin, said.

Oh, Adam liked him.

“Stop being an asshole, Quentin,” Bond gave back, earning a playful slap from the other.

Again, Adam blinked at the nerdish younger man who had just dared to slap a double O agent.

“I show you asshole,” Quentin said pouting a little and leaning back in his chair.

“What happened? Why are you here?” Adam asked.

“I was asked to find the man who killed you,” Bond replied.

“Seems those who are said dead live longer,” Adam said, the smile a lie. “Michael Glass tried to kill me, I need to talk to the police.”

Bond shook his head, eyes averting Adam’s questioning gaze.

“That is no longer necessary. Dr Glass is no longer a problem.”

Adam looked for a while at Bond, whose face was stoic as always, the crystal blue eyes as magnetic and hypnotizing as he remembered them.

“What does that mean?”

“Oh, I think you know what that means,” Quentin replied in place of his husband. The younger of the two Bonds sounded annoyed.

Wait. Husband? That was something Adam had to inquire about later for more details.

“You killed him,” Adam said flatly, realizing what Bond’s word had implied, and Bond only gave a nod. “I should be shocked. But I’m sort of grateful that this asshole is no longer around.”

“You’re welcome,” Bond said while Quentin huffed, one of Bond’s hand on his shoulder.

Bond pulled a second chair closer and sat down. Now Adam noticed that the agent looked tired and worried. He had not aged much in these two years since he last saw him. The stubble on his jaw and chin was blond and speckled with only a few silver hairs, the lines on his face a little more pronounced, but he was as handsome as he remembered him, and the way he held himself told Adam that he was just as toned as he had been back then. Gorgeous, attractive man.

“We’ve got a lot of catching up to do, I guess,” Adam said, looking from one Bond to the other. The hand he raised to point at them was shaking, still weak from the days of sleep that the attack on his life had put him into.

“We’ll have time for that,” Bond said, the smile on his face genuine and friendly. He seemed calm and at ease, less stressed and agitated than he had appeared two years ago. “You should rest, Adam. We will come back tomorrow to visit some more.”

“Who asked you to find Glass?” Adam asked, fearing the answer that hang between them. Something told him that he knew the answer without having to ask the question.

“I did.”

Adam’s breathing seemed to stop and race at the same time, and he did not dare to turn his head towards the door from where the accented voice had come, thinking it might be a fragment of his imagination.

A voice he would recognize in his sleep.

When he finally turned to see if the voice had been real, seeing how Bond and Quentin both looked up and looked at a point behind him, both with an expression on their faces that Adam could not make sense of – Bond with a short nod that showed acceptance, Quentin though with an expression of pure anger in his eyes – he looked at the man he never had wanted to see again in his life, standing there with a straight back, wearing black clothing, the face an emotionless mask, looking so much the same as he had been two years ago.

Le Chiffre.

And still, nothing he could have seen in his whole life would have made him as happy as seeing this man there, coming for him, the eyes betraying him with an insecurity in them that felt out of place with him and yet to right.

“Hello, Adam.”

Adam could not help but whisper with a helpless and unwelcome smile: “Jean.”


	13. Chapter 13

The next time Adam woke up from being asleep, he was disoriented and was not quite sure where he was within the first moments. But the scent of cleaners, the sounds of machines and people on the hallway outside his room reminded him that he was still in the hospital.

The police had still not showed up yet, but knowing the Metropolitan Police people he had worked with before, he knew that they would show up soon, rarely considering health or state of the people they had to interrogate.

Adam sighed and rubbed his face with a tired hand, noticing the stubble and making a mental note that he had to shave soon, or at least trim before he looked like a lumberjack. His eyes were still a little unfocused, but when he looked around in the silent room, he saw the man asleep in the chair next to him, slumped forward, a man he would have recognized even with closed eyes.

Jean was wearing the same aftershave he had been wearing two years ago. Something subtle and elegant, without being too much or too little, complimenting the appearance and natural scent of the man, and Adam closed the eyes for a moment in the memory of rubbing his nose along Jean’s jaw, drowning in his scent. He shuddered and looked again at the sleeping man.

Different from usual, Jean was not wearing his customary dark colors but a beige pullover over a white shirt which emphasized the tan his skin had gotten, probably from being somewhere in warmer areas of the globe before he had come to rainy and cold London. He looked good, gorgeous as always, but even in his sleep he looked tired. Adam continued to just lay there in his uncomfortable hospital bed, the head a little turned and watched the sleeping man, and somehow he felt calmed by his mere presence.

“Mister Towers, you’re awake,” a voice came from the door and when he looked there, a nurse was standing in the doorway, carrying a tray. “Are you ready for some real food?”

He tried for a smile.

“I’m not sure how hospital can be considered real food, but yes, I could do with some substance,” he replied, the voice still rough.

While the nurse brought the tray closer, putting it onto the side table and helped Adam it up, he noticed a movement behind him and he knew that Jean had woken up and was changing his seating.

The food did smell, while not divine, at least like something that could be digested, and Adam look with his usual curiosity at the plates in front of him. Carrots, pasta and some meat with gravy. Looked okay. Taking up the cutlery, he was struggling a little with his motoric skills and hissed a curse when his hands were still shaking.

“Do you want me to help you?” Jean asked behind him.

Adam thought of a snarky comeback, but then he just nodded with resignation and saw from the corner of his eye that Jean got up and then sat down at the edge of his bed, where he cut Adam’s lunch into smaller pieces.

“You think you can do like this?”

“Yes, I think that’s fine. Thank you,” Adam replied, the voice thin.

He ate a few bites, and the food was surprisingly good and not at all what he had expected from hospital food, and while he ate he watched how Jean sat back down on the chair, watching him eat.

“Why are you here?” Adam asked after he swallowed a fork full of carrots.

“Because I care for you,” Jean replied.

Adam ate another carrot and looked at Jean.

“I think I made it very clear that I don’t want to see you again the last time we saw each other.”

He saw how a muscle in Jean’s jaw moved.

“Yes, you were very clear. And while I did not agree, I respected your wish for space during the past two years.”

“You did not agree,” Adam stated. “It’s not like you even tried.”

“Did you want me to try?”

Adam put down the fork, rubbing again a hand over his tired face.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I thought I knew, but I’m not sure anymore. Seeing you is…”

A short, almost hopeful smile, appeared on Jean’s face.

“…confusing?” Adam continued. “I thought I was over you. And now you’re here, and I…”

“Mister Towers?” A voice came from the door, and when Adam, interrupted, looked there, two men were standing there who he had not seen before. “Inspector Harris of the Metropolitan Police Service, this is Inspector McKaye. We were informed you gained consciousness and would like to have a word if that is okay with you.”

Adam nodded, while he noticed how Jean got tense.

“Can I see your IDs?” Adam asked and looked at what the two men presented to him. “Thank you.”

“No worries,” Inspector Harris said, pulling a chair up while McKaye remained standing. “Would you kindly leave, Sir?” He then asked Jean, who made no attempt to get up from his place.

“I’d rather stay,” the Albanian replied, making Adam grin.

Harris frowned.

“And who would you be?”

Adam raised a brow, expecting an alias, an excuse from the criminal.

“Jean Duran,” the other replied almost casually. “I’m a friend of Mister Towers.”

Harris and McKaye exchanged a look.

“Jean Duran?” McKaye asked, as if he had not heard right, the name mentioned obviously meaning something to him, but Jean only gave a short nod. “Is it okay for you if Mister Duran stays, Mister Towers?”

“Of course,” he replied. “I guess you want to talk about the attack on my life?”

Harris nodded.

“Yes, Sir,” he said, pulling out an old fashioned notebook and a pen. “Do you have any recollection about what happened the evening you were attacked?”

“First I would like to know why my close friend Mister Duran was informed that I was killed. I obviously was not and someone leaked a false information about my state. I would like to think that that is not standard procedure. Were my mother and sister also informed that I am dead?”

Harris shifted on his chair.

“We are very sorry about that, Mister Towers. It seems that the first responder did not check for vital signs and since you were found with open eyes, not breathing and without any movement, he placed the information that you were deceased into the file and it was not corrected even though the paramedics that arrived at the crime scene found a few minutes later very shallow signs of life and could stabilize you,” Harris explained, a little embarrassed. “I’m not aware if your family was informed.”

“That first responder, whoever that may be, caused distress for my friend, and I’d like to file a complaint, if possible,” Adam said, hearing a chuckle from Jean.

“Of course, Mister Towers,” Harris said. “How were you informed about the attack on Mister Towers’ life, if I may ask?”

Jean crossed his slender legs, leaning back and showing dominance in his pose. Adam noticed how he looked shortly at McKaye, but then back at Harris.

“I have contacts,” he only said, and Adam understood with a smirk the truth behind those words, Harris though only nodded.

“You are friends how?” He asked.

Adam looked at Harris.

“I doubt that my personal relationship with Mister Duran is of any importance, Inspector Harris,” he replied, a little annoyed.

“So, you are in a relationship.”

Adam rolled his eyes.

“Assumed what you want,” Adam said. “To come back to the matter of the attack of my life, the man who tried to kill me is Doctor Michael Glass. He thought I had an affair with his ex-wife and attacked me, I guess out of jealousy. Instead of bothering me or my friend, inquiring about a possible _relationship_ with Mister Duran, you should put your attention there.”

Jean raised his brows, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket to take care of the blood drop that ran out of his left eye, but his lips smiled.

Harris and McKaye exchanged a look.

“Doctor Micheal Glass?” Harris said.

“I think that is what I said. I’ve been working on an article about his, let’s call us subpar psychiatric evaluations, and he’s not a big fan on mine,” Adam continued, and Jean noticed with interest how Adam still used present tense for the man who tried to kill him and who had been taken care of by Bond. Maybe Adam was not aware of the doctor’s death.

“Doctor Glass has been killed,” Harris then said, looking at Adam, waiting for his reaction.

Adam looked…shocked. His eyes widened, blinking a few times and his mouth went agape.

“Killed?” He whispered. “But…how?”

“That is still investigated, Mister Towers,” Harris said. “This would be all for now, we will ask you to come into the Yard to make a full statement as soon as you have recovered.”

Adam nodded, still looking in distress, and shaking both the inspector’s hands when they said their goodbyes, and again he noticed how McKaye shortly looked at Jean. He waited until the door to his room was closed behind the two men and then he turned to Jean, who sat there with a smug expression.

“So, the good Inspector McKaye is on your payroll?” He asked bluntly, and again Jean chuckled.

“Very observant,” Jean said. “He is, has been for several years already.”

“Anyone not paid by you around here?”

“I think you never accepted a single Penny from me,” Jean said. “I asked Bond to get a few things from your apartment.”

Adam raised a brow.

“You asked…?” Adam huffed and shook his head. “Should I ask why?”

“You’re leaving the hospital today, I will hire a private nurse to take care of you until you are back on your feet.”

Adam blinked once. Then again.

“What the fuck, Jean?” He then said. “You can’t…” But then he raised his hands. “I give up. I don’t feel well enough to discuss this with you and I’m really fucking tired of this bullshit.”

Jean leaned forward.

“I care for you, Adam,” he said, the voice silent. “I never stopped caring.”

“You’re a fucking criminal,” Adam whispered. “You’re…you’re Le Chiffre.”

“I am,” he said. “I’m also a man of flesh and blood.”

Adam looking into his eyes. Jean looked like he was a boy begging for acceptance, for something else. And instead of chastising the man for intruding his life, he only nodded.

“Am I allowed to go home?” He asked.

“Do you really want to go back to the place where someone tried to kill you?”

“Yeah, there’s that,” Adam said, sighing with resignation. “Does that mean I get to see your place or are you dumping me at some posh hotel?”

Jean sighed, but before he could answer, the door opened and Quentin and James Bond entered the room, James carrying a bag that he put onto the bed.

“I hope you can do with that stuff, Quentin picked so prepare to be dressed like a high school student,” James sassed, earning a slap on his arm by his husband, something that made Adam again laugh. The dynamic between these two amused him.

Quentin’s eyes lingered though on the man on the other side of the bed, who now got up and to open the bag and pulled out jeans and a pullover that Adam had forgotten he owned, nice stuff though.

“You’re Jean Duran,” Quentin said without emotion.

Jean looked up and nodded.

“You’re Le Chiffre,” Quentin added, and Adam noticed how James tensed up, while Jean gave another nod.

Quentin returned the nod and said nothing else, while James went to stand between Jean and Quentin, who continued to glare at the man who helped Adam, who was still wobbly on his feet, get dressed.

Suddenly, Jen did not move anymore, holding something in his hands, while Adam put on the coat that had been pulled from the bag as well.

“What…?” He started, but then he saw what Jean was holding in his hands.

The green scarf.

“You still have it?”

Adam smiled softly and took his favorite item of clothing from him.

“Of course I still have it,” he said, accepting help from Jean getting up.

Jean smiled. Happy. A little helpless. And a little overwhelmed, while he held Adam’s arm, leading him after getting into his own dark brown coat, towards the door.

“Don’t I have to sign anything to leave the hospital?” Adam asked, but before Jean could reply, a fist hit his jaw coming out of nowhere.

Jean shook off the surprise and pain, wiped the tickle of blood from his split lip.

Quentin Bond stood there, shaking an aching hand, but looking way too smug for someone who just hit an infamous and dangerous criminal, James at his side, put his shoulder between him and Jean as if to protect one of them, but Adam was no longer sure who he protected.

“That,” Quentin said. “Was for James’ balls.”

Adam could not help but snort, Jean gave a short nod. James though rolled his eyes and looked like he was resignating.

“Q,” he only said. “That was…”

“Necessary,” Quentin said, adjusting his glasses.

“Stupid.”

“Are you calling me stupid?”

“It was justified,” Jean said and gave Quentin and approving nod.

Adam was still chuckling while Jean was leading him out of the room, leaving the bickering couple behind.

“I like him,” Adam said, clinging to Jean’s arm.

Jean looked down at him.

“I bet you do.”

Adam was surprised that nobody stopped them and he assumed that Jean had left some money here as well to not be bothered by overeager employees.

They both remained silent on their way outside the hospital, Jean always a supportive hand on Adam’s arm, and towards the parking space, where Adam had within seconds no doubt which car they were approaching.

“Nice ride,” Adam said, eyes checking out the black Mercedes-Maybach that was polished and looked worth every single cent spent on the luxury vehicle. He dared to touch the sleek silhouette of the beautiful car that reassured him of the taste of the other man.

“It was a well-placed investment,” Jean agreed and gave the man leaning against the driver’s door a nod.

Only on second look Adam recognized the man standing there.

“You have hair,” was his greeting, making Kratt smile shortly, the eyes as piercing blue as always.

“Good day to you too,” he said, opening the door for him and Jean to enter and then turned to Jean, asking: “Home?”

“Yes, home,” Jean replied.

Adam sat down in the comfortable backseat, joined by Jean, and closed his eyes.

Home.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adam makes a friend.

Living with Jean turned out to be on one hand as pure bliss. Adam was showered in affection, luxury and care from the strict but professional nurse, and from Jean’s housekeeper Patricia, who was after only two days more of a mother to Adam than his own mother ever had been.

On the hand, it was pure stress.

Seeing Jean every day, hearing his accented voice, seeing how he was close and yet so far apart as if he was on another continent, it was difficult to deal with. Adam wanted to talk to him, but Jean was always busy.

Only when Adam pulled out the laptop that Quentin had packed for him and started to write an article about an unnamed secretive Albanian crime lord, Jean had reacted after Adam had told him and just taken his laptop away. And that had resulted in Adam being…bored.

And a bored Adam was an annoying Adam.

He shuffled around the penthouse, which was probably the most gorgeous place he had ever seen, and examined the beautiful view from the terrace overlooking London, or rearranged the books in Jean’s library, hoping that Jean would interject and hand back his laptop before he went and messed up even more. Jean though did nothing but roll his eyes at him, speak in a hushed tone with him like he was a little child, and otherwise continued to ignore him, making Adam ask himself why he was even there.

On the third day of his stay, he woke up, his neck still aching, when the curtains were pulled back and much too bright sunlight flooded the room.

He blinked and then smiled at Patricia who returned the smile with a nod.

“Good morning, Mister Towers,” she said. “How do you feel about some breakfast?”

“I’ve asked you to call me Adam, Patricia, please,” Adam yawned. “And breakfast sound divine. Will Jean join me?”

“I’m afraid but Mister Duran has left for some business meetings already,” she replied, noticing how Adam’s eyes filled up with disappointment. “But he said he would be back in the afternoon and maybe you can have dinner together. I had some really nice Angus steaks delivered today, and I think you would like those, don’t you?”

“That sounds indeed perfect, Patricia, thank you.”

She nodded again and went to the door.

“I’ll get your breakfast,” she said and then left.

Adam went to the bathroom that was adjoining the guestroom in which he stayed and took a quick shower and shaved. The reflection in the mirror that was covering the whole wall not what he wanted it to be. No wonder that Jean was not interested in spending time with him. He had lost weight and was pale as a corpse. Which was bad enough, but the bruises around his neck, the testament of what Glass had done to him, that he had escaped death just so, were far from being attractive.

Tears welled up at the memory of the pain, of the fear. He had been so sure that he would die and he remembered that his last thought had been that he would never see Jean again. And now he saw him again, daily, and it meant nothing.

Returning to the bedroom, he was surprised to not only find his breakfast on a tray decorated with a bouquet of red roses on the bed, but also company he had not expected.

“Good morning,” Quentin Bond said with a smile, popping a strawberry he had sneaked from the tray into his mouth.

“Good morning, Quentin,” Adam reply and went back to bed. “I didn’t know you would come visit, not that I don’t appreciate the company.”

Quentin nodded.

“James is away for business and I thought that would be a nice time to visit with you,” he said, making Adam frown. “To answer the unasked question, yes, he is away for business together with Jean.”

Adam tilted the head to the side, offering Quentin half of the toast he had covered with cream cheese and jam, which the other young man gladly accepted, moaning when he took a bit, the eyes shortly closed. When he opened them again, he saw how Adam was frowning, obviously thinking something over.

“What?” Quentin asked.

“Why is Jean doing business with the secret service?” He asked. “I mean, you probably can’t tell me if you even know, but…”

“James is not working for MI6 anymore,” Quentin interrupted him. “Did you not know?”

Adam shook his head.

“How would I? I had no contact to either of them for a bit more than two years. That’s a surprise to be honest. James seemed to be very loyal to the service.”

Quentin nodded.

“Some things happened,” he explained. “James realized that the government cares more for the job that has to be done than about the person who has to do the job.” Quentin stopped. “You’re an investigative journalist, a good one. I should really not be talking to you about all this. James would not appreciate to find his name in the headlines of Urbane Magazine.”

Adam chuckled at that.

“If I had wanted James in the headlines, he and Jean would have made those two years ago,” he said. “I’m an asshole, but I’m not a complete idiot.”

Quentin nodded and stole another strawberry.

“So, what happened?” Adam asked. “I’m intrigued. Did you know James already back then? I mean…”

“No, James and I met a few months after Montenegro. It’s a long story.”

Adam leaned back in his pillows, warming his always cold hands on the mug of tea.

“Not like I have to be anywhere,” he said.

“I actually came to ask how you were doing, and not to talk about my history with James,” Quentin grinned, adjusting his glasses.

“I’m doing better. Nightmares and the throat is still sore, but I think I’m back on my feet already,” Adam said. “I’m just curious. I have seen James back then, he’s a damn flirt and I never expected to see him married, yet alone to…”

“Someone like me?”

Adam gave a nod.

“That sounds so rude, but yes. I didn’t think James would marry a man, and if, then I would have expected some slutty party boy or socialite.”

“And not a nerdy hacker?”

“You’re a hacker?”

“The best,” Quentin laughed. “But no, you’re right. I did not expect him to fall in love with me, nor me with him, and I for sure did never think that we would end up married, living together, co-parenting my two cats. I thought…”

“You thought?”

“Like I said, long story.”

Adam raised a brow.

“I’m sure James told you everything about Jean and me by now,” he said, and Quentin nodded in agreement.

“You’re right,” Quentin said. “You remember Montenegro I guess.”

“Every minute, yes.”

“James was there to win against Le Chiffre, funded by the Treasury,” Quentin said.

“I’m aware. The goddess…,” he started, seeing how Quentin raised his brows. “That’s what I called her in my head, but I’m afraid I forgot her name. But she was the liaison agent of the Treasury, right?”

“Her name was Vesper Lynd. She is dead,” Quentin said. “She committed suicide shortly after Montenegro.”

Adam blinked.

“Lynd?” He asked, remembering the name now. “When you introduced yourself in hospital, you said…”

“Quentin Lynd, yes,” the other said. “Vesper was my sister. My twin sister to be exact.”

Adam took a deep breath.

“I was informed that Vesper killed herself. She had been in love with a man called Yusef, but he played her and made her betray her country, but those were things I did not know then. I only knew that an agent called James Bond was the reason for her death, so I…I tried to…well…I…”

Quentin hesitated.

“You?”

“I tried to kill him.”

Adam blinked.

“You…tried to kill James Bond,” he stated flatly.

Quentin shrugged.

“Yep,” he said, popping the P. “Vesper and I had been close until a few month before her death. Twins. Through thick and thin, but then she changed, and I never knew why. I was sure it had to do with James, so I tried to get close to him with the plan to take him out, but well…that did not work out so well.”

“I can imagine,” Adam sighed. “Does he know?”

“That I wanted to shoot him? Oh yes, I think me pointing a gun at his head gave that away.”

Adam could not help but laugh, making Quentin’s brows raise up to his hairline.

“Oh my God, I just imagine James’ face.”

“He was surprised,” Quentin said.

Adam chewed his toast and swallowed, while Quentin smiled to himself.

“You look happy though,” Adam then said.

“I am. I’d like to think we both are,” came the reply. “James had already left the service then, and he was not the man I expected him to be. He is a flirty, sassy asshole, but God help me, I love him.”

“Can I ask how you met?”

“Oh, I approached him in a club,” Quentin chuckled. “I brush up nicely if I have to. But I did not expect James to hook up with me and well, the rest is history.”

“I have an impeccable gaydar, but even I did not notice that James was…whatever he is.”

“I think that not even James knows what he is, and it does not matter to be honest. He’s a great actor, he had to be in his old profession, but now he’s only James.”

Adam nodded, considering Quentin’s words and asking himself if he and Jean were good actors too, hiding behind a mask they had learned to wear to not get hurt.

“You and…Le Chiffre?” Quentin then asked.

Adam shrugged.

“We’re…I don’t know if we are anything, or if we will ever be anything again,” Adam sighed, averting eye contact and looking at his hands. “In Montenegro we had an affair, but after I witnessed what he was capable of, I could not continue.”

“You miss him.”

Now, Adam looked up.

“Every day. Every fucking day,” he whispered. “I wanted to send him away when he showed up in hospital, but damn, it felt so good that he was there, and I want to pretend that he really cares.”

“Oh, he cares,” Quentin said. “As soon as he learned about you being killed, it took a minute for him to call James and tell him to find out who did this to you and have him taken care of. James told me that he sounded distressed. A man who does not care would not do that, Adam. If you meant nothing to him, he would have brushed the information about your death off.”

Adam thought about Quentin’s words.

“Do you really think that?” He asked, weirdly insecure.

“I do,” Quentin said. “I do think that that man is in totally gone on you. Even after more than two years without any contact. And you can’t tell me that you don’t feel the same.” He waved a finger at Adam’s face. “I can see it in your eyes.”

The two men spent the rest of the morning together, relocating later to the terrace, talking for hours about their families, that both were not happy about their sons being gay, and their love for cats. There were many things they had in common, from the sass to the intelligence and Adam had already after these few hours together the impression that he had found a friend for life.

He learned that James was pulling some strings in not all too legal businesses by now, with Quentin at his side, and never would he have thought that the nerdy young man, who looked somewhat innocent and as if he could not harm a fly, had a training in several martial arts and was a marksman on the same level as his husband.

Quentin Lynd-Bond was a man full of surprises and Adam could not wait for the surprises that their friendship would mean for the future.


	15. Chapter 15

_I can see it in your eyes_

Quentin’s words echoed still in Adam’s head hours later. If Quentin could see his emotions so clearly, why could Jean see them not? Maybe Quentin had been wrong after all, and Jean did not care in the way he wanted him to. What he knew was that Jean was not able to show his feelings, and that was something he could not deal with easily.

“Did you have a nice day?” A voice behind him said, and Adam wanted to smile, but he could not. Instead he was standing there on the terrace, looking over the rooftops of the London evening.

“It was okay,” he replied, his hands on the railing, bare feet on the expensive stone floor. “Quentin visited.”

Jean approached him from behind and came to stand next to him, but instead of looking at him, he as well looked at the city that unfolded itself in front of them.

“That’s nice,” Jean said.

From the corner of his eyes, Adam saw that Jean once again was dressed in the black that he wore like an armor.

Minutes passed in which they were just standing there. Adam wanted Jean to tell him about his day, wanted to laugh with him, to be carefree and happy again, like on that day on the farmer’s market, when there had not been a man called Le Chiffre, but only Jean Duran in his company.

“Are you feeling better?”

Adam now turned to looked at Jean, saw that the other man still did not looked at him, and he was starting to get annoyed.

“Do you already want to get rid of me?” Adam asked, hating that his voice trembled a little.

Now Jean turned to him.

“What?” He asked surprised.

“Since you brought me here, even Kratt has talked more to me than you,” Adam said. “Why am I here, Jean? Why did you bring me here when you so clearly don’t want my company? But I have good news, I’m feeling much better and I will leave tomorrow and go home.”

Adam started to leave the terrace, but Jean held him by an arm, stopping him.

“No,” he only said.

Adam looked up at him.

“No?”

“No. Don’t leave,” Jean said, looking at Adam, searching for something. “Why do you assume I don’t want your company?”

“You don’t talk to me. When I get into the same room as you, you leave after a few minutes with an excuse. We have no meals together. You avoid me, Jean. I’m not stupid and I get the hint.”

Jean shook his head no.

“No, you don’t get it,” Jean said. “It is true, I avoid you.” Adam tried to twist his arm from Jean’s grip, but he tightened his fingers. “I avoid you because your mere presence is driving me crazy. You are wounded, you are hurt. And I can’t stop wanting you, Adam. Do you know how that makes me feel?”

Adam raised a brow, blinking a few time.

“You want me?” He whispered.

“I never stopped wanting you. You made very clear that you don’t want to see me again when you left,” Jean said. “I feel like I’m harassing you with my presence. I will not force myself on you, with all the bad things you already think about me, I don’t want you to think I would go that far. I didn’t think it would be so hard.”

“I could think of a few things that are very nice when they’re hard,” Adam grinned.

“Adam,” Jean only said, while Adam stepped a little closer, their bodies touching. “This is not a good idea.”

Adam’s lips brushed over his jaw, making him hold a breath.

“Why not?”

“Because you will leave.”

Instead of disagreeing, Adam nodded.

“You are right, I will,” he said, stretching his aching neck to reach Jean’s lip and kiss him gently. “But not now.”

Jean pushed him away.

“You broke my heart once.”

Adam closed the distance between them again.

“As you broke mine.”

“You left, not me.”

Now Adam stopped his attempts to kiss the other man again and looked into his beautiful eyes.

“I did. Because I thought I could not live with who you are, what you do. Maybe I was wrong, I’ll never know,” Adam said. “What I do know is that I want you.”

Jean was looking into Adam’s eyes, searching, and then he leaned down and covered Adam’s lips with his own, searing and demanding. Adam moaned immediately, and slung his arms around Jean’s neck, trying to get the other man even closer, until he could welcome his tongue in his mouth and felt how his knees got weak and he needed indeed both arms to hold himself upright. Jean took him into his arms, holding him tight, kissing him passionately and still with a hint of tenderness, until he managed to pick Adam up.

Immediately, Adam wrapped again his legs around his hips, clinging to him. The experience to feel wanted and desired, and at the same time nourishing his own ability to let go and submit to the passion of the other man, aroused Adam without a doubt.

His cock swelled up in the pajama pants he was still wearing and he grinded himself with a whimper against Jean’s toned body, leaving no doubt that he was willing and ready to be taken apart, like he knew only Jean would be able to.

Jean carried him without effort into his own bedroom that had gallery doors that lead to the terrace and let Adam fall onto the bed. Without hesitation, Adam pulled the t-shirt over his head and shuffled out of the pants, remaining in the nude on the bed before Jean had even started to take off a single item of clothing.

The older man watched the eager boy that was opening his legs, drawing one up, the eyes with a seductive glint, the lips already red and swollen from the kisses they had shared. As gorgeous and enticing as he remembered him.

Jean was loosening his tie and opening his cufflinks, eyes on Adam, who started to lazily stroke his erect cock, the tip of his tongue between his lips.

“Beautiful,” Jean said pleased. “Open yourself up for me.”

Adam shivered at his words, and spread his legs further, feeling a shiver of arousal run over his body. Nothing could compare to the feeling of being wanted and desired and being allowed to be nothing but a hedonistic slut that was willing to give himself completely.

While his right hand continued to slowly stroke his cock, his left shortly kneaded his balls and then went further. Jean watched how Adam pressed two fingers into his rim and spread his butt cheeks, giving him a good view on the tight opening that he could hardly believe that anything could ever fit inside. One of Adam’s fingertips circled the opening before he pressed the fingertip inside, raw and without any lubricant. Adam hissed at the little pain he had caused himself but enjoyed so much, pushing the finger deeper until the second knuckle vanished and then started to move the finger slowly in circles, starting to stretch himself only a little. Feelind Jean’s eyes on him, Adam put the fingers of his other hand into his mouth, sucking on the digits until he had them nice and wet and then pushed a finger of his other hand inside his ass next to the one that was already there.

“Shit,” he whispered at the stretch, his eyes closing and dwelling in the little fullness he knew would soon be so much more.

Soon he was fingering himself with three fingers of his right hand, twisting and scissoring, fucking himself open until his ass did not oppose to being filled anymore, hungry and ravenous, twitching and fluttering, while Jean was now out of his shirt and had the buckle of his belt opened. Adam’s eyes wandered over the body of his ex-lover, future lover, whatever Jean was to him, lingering over the impressive bulge in the pants he was now opening and shoving downwards over his hips, presenting everything that Adam had ever desired in his life. Or at least it seemed like that. He could not remember that there had ever been one of his lovers who he had wanted like this, nobody compared to Jean. Jean. Jean.

“Jean,” he whispered, while Jean kneeled down between his spread legs and let his hands run up the inside of Adam’s thighs, making him shiver once more.

His hands stopped just before he would have touched Adam’s aroused genitals, instead he was pressing the palms of both hands against the soft flesh of his thighs, urging Adam to draw both legs up, opening himself completely, making himself vulnerable to Jean’s eyes and touch.

“You’re beautiful,” Jean said, and when Adam looked at him, he saw that Jean was not looking at his hole like he had assumed, but at his flushed face. “And you’re mine.”

Adam nodded, drunken of desire.

“Yours,” he agreed. “Please, Jean.”

Jean bent down and kissed Adam’s left thigh, then his hip. Adam wanted to shout at him to just go and suck him, fuck him, do anything, but at the same time Jane’s avoidance of making contact with Adam’s cock or balls or ass were something that almost made him come. Jean’s lips continued to kiss his body, the flat belly and up his sternum, not paying attention to Adam’s stiff nipples that begged to be touched, licked, anything, and then kissed with an overwhelming tenderness Adam’s neck, meanwhile his own hard cock nestled between Adam’s cheeks, pressing against his opening without entering him.

Adam moaned at the kisses on the bruises that were all over his neck, the intimacy of his gesture bringing tears to his eyes, before Jean leaned over his face, lips hovering over his. The first kiss was again chaste, nothing but lips touching lips, without force, without passion, but still more erotic than any kiss Adam has shared with another man. The mere presence of Jean was enough to bring him to the brink of his own ability to control himself.

His whole body was writhing beneath Jean, tilting his hips towards him, trying to encourage him, but Jean did not need any more invitation. He let a hand glide down Adam’s body, between them, and guided his cock towards Adam’s entrance and pushed without resistance into him.

Adam held his breath, spreading his legs to the limit and pushing himself against Jean, looking up into his lover’s eyes, while their bodies joined in the most intimate way.

Bottoming out, Jean stilled, the only movement his breathing, looking down at Adam, at the eyes that were almost completely black in lust, the beauty the younger man was, the eager slut and the intelligent conversationalist. The everything that was Adam Towers.

Jean wanted to say something, opened his mouth, but the syllables died in his throat. He had to shake his head, disappointed with himself for not being able to put into words what he felt, and then it was Adam who summed up the feelings they shared.

“I love you,” Adam whispered, tears in his eyes.

Instead of replying with the words Adam wanted, needed to hear, Jean kissed him, consuming and deep, starting to move with slow, deep thrusts. Drawing with each movement another moan from Adam’s throat, soon cascading into little screams, while Adam’s hands tried to find safety, tried to find reality in a moment that seemed so removed from anything he ever had thought possible.

The fervor with which Jean took him apart, piece by piece, was almost unbearable to Adam, every thrust, every inch that pushed into his inside, making him lose his mind a little more, until Jean flipped them over, using one leg as leverage, and help Adam on top of him.

Without missing a beat, Adam took the movements over, rotating his hips, grinding his ass against Jean’s groin, but not sitting up. Riding Jean, as much as he would enjoy the complete control, the power of topping from the bottom, he would lose the closeness of being in Jean’s arm.

He had never cried while being fucked before, but he was sobbing at Jean’s shoulder, aware of the passion and the severity of their coupling.

This was different.

This was everything.

Adam came with a loud sob, without being touched, between their bodies, whimpering and shaking with every muscle, closely followed by Jean, who filled him with his craved cum.

Adam was still crying minutes later, their bodies still joined, his face buried in Jean’s chest hair, both of them covered in sweat, both of them still shaking with the slowly abating arousal.

“I love you,” Adam repeated his previous words, feeling Jean’s hand in his damp curls, and again, Jean did not reply, did not tell him those three words that he had never heard in his whole life before and was desiring more than anything else.

And he understood that Jean would maybe never love him back the same way he was able to love him.

And he made a decision.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

When Jean woke up, it was still dark in his bedroom, only the light from the hallway came through the open door, and when he turned his head, he saw that Adam was sitting on the edge of the bed, fully dressed, wearing his coat and the green scarf. Jean did not need to ask to know what this meant.

“I love you,” Adam said, but raised a hand when Jean wanted to say something, making him stop. “I know it’s insane. I know I should not feel anything for a man like you, but I can’t help it, and God, I tried. I tried so hard to forget you, but I know now that I will never forget a single second with you. Maybe one day you will be able to open your eyes and your heart. And on that day you will know where to find me. And I will be there.”

Tears streamed down Adam’s face, while Jean just stared at him, knowing that every single word that the younger man said was true.

“The day you can allow yourself to be just Jean for me, find me.”

Adam leaned down to Jean and kissed him, first chaste then with desperate intimacy.

“Find me,” he whispered, and then he turned and left the bedroom.

Jean was laying on his bed, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at the ceiling, until finally he heard the private elevator ping and he knew that Adam had left him once again.

Yes.

He would find him.

One day.


	16. Chapter 16

_2 months later._

Kratt came below deck of Jean’s yacht, currently in the Mediterranean and handed his boss a note that Jean unfolded.

“The consignment has been delivered,” he was informed.

Jean looked up, his face lack of emotion.

“Get the helicopter ready,” came his order, and Kratt only nodded before he went upstairs to do a he had been instructed.

Jean rubbed his eyes.

He would not only lose his face when this did not work out.

He would lose his heart.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam was in a good mood when he arrived at work that Tuesday morning. Well, a little later than morning usually meant. He had overslept and his visit at the coffee shop where he got his daily fix of latte macchiato had taken a little longer because some businessman in front of him had changed his order around ten times.

Eric, the reporter who had the desk next to his, shoot daggers at him, like he always did. He did not like him, but that was mutual. Eric was a homophobic asshole and did not even try to hide it. Which was annoying, but also amusing because Adam was very sure that Eric, deep down inside, crave a nice piece of ass and probably needed to get fucked really good and hard, like he had…not been in two months.

Adam could not remember having ever gone this long without sex. Not even after Montenegro when he just wanted to forget and had visited the raunchiest gay clubs as soon as he was back in London. He had wanted to forget how it had felt with Jean, wanted to forget the man and the experience, wanted to forget the feelings.

But not this time.

This time, he wanted to remember. To cherish the last night he had spent with Jean, and some part of him still hoped every day that he would see the criminal again who had stolen his heart. But there had not been a word from him.

He had been invited to James’ and Quentin’s place two times for dinner in the past two months, and somehow he was sure that his friends, and he dared to call them that, were pitying his pining heart. He had not asked them about Jean, even though he knew that they were in contact with him, that James was doing business with Le Chiffre, and they had not mentioned him.

Still, he was in a good mood today.

He had published a story about Lord Amberley in the last issue and he was getting fantastic feedback for the exposure of the lord who had harassed and abused several female employees over years, if not decades. Amberley was a weasel of the worst kind, and the few times he had met the man were more than unpleasant. Now, Adam was praised for his courage writing such an article, and he had been contacted by the police to hand over interviews and statements because the good lord would be prosecuted for what he had done.

Resulting in Adam being very pleased with himself.

He winked at Eric, uncaring that he was given back a glare and sat down at his desk, putting his laptop on top and opening it when he noticed the manila envelope that was waiting there for him.

No sender indicated, so he thought it would maybe be some intel he had asked from his contacts, but his name was written in an elegant, almost flourished cursive, and he was curious, turning the envelope in his hands. It was thin, and deducting from the weight, only held some papers inside.

“Some courier brought that earlier,” the new journalist right of his desk - Janice? Jane? Something like that – said, playing with her pen and when Adam looked shortly at her, he once again noticed how she was trying to flirt with him.

He returned the smile and looked again down at the envelope, finally opening it.

Inside he found another sealed envelope and a piece of expensive stationary. He held the smaller envelope in his hands, and unfolded the letter, reading the words he found there.

_Adam,_

_I found you._

_Like I will always find you._

_If you are ready to find me, my heart, you will make use of the contents of this envelope._

_J._

He read the letter again.

Then another time.

And then a smile spread over his face.

“Good news?” His female co-worker, whatever her name was, asked, looking with curiosity at him.

“He found me,” Adam whispered and looked at her.

His heart was beating loudly. Blood was rushing through his ears, while he opened the second envelope with trembling fingers, pulling out something he had not expected.

Flight tickets.

For today.

“He found me!” He said loud, closed his laptop, got up and started to run.

He had found him.

♠️ ♣️ ♥️ ♦️

Adam had decided on the only clothing that made sense for this trip, and so he wore completely black, accented with a certain green scarf. He had noticed Jean’s expression when he had seen that he was still owning the accessory that he would never in his life give up. The scarf was of a wonderful quality and had been worth any penny that Jean had spent, and he was certain that he would be able to wear it for years, not that he would throw it away if it ever lost its softness of the bright green color. This simple garment meant the world to him.

He had arrived in Montenegro without any delay and had taken a taxi to the Hotel Splendide, and he could have sworn that it had been the same creepy taxi driver that had brought him here on that fateful trip two years ago. But this time, he could not be bothered.

The bag he had with him held only very few things. A few toiletry articles, a change of clothes, things he had stuffed into the bag in record time, wanting to get the flight and not miss whatever this would mean. He was excited and scared at the same time, anxious of what was to come, what Jean would have to say to him, assuming still that he was to meet Jean here.

Adam did not want to believe in a fairytale romance, that Jean would court and woo him, maybe he wanted just a fuck between making two not very legal deals in the hotel where they met. But then, there had been the letter.

He had found him.

He remembered every word that he had said when he had left Jean’s penthouse.

_Maybe one day you will be able to open your eyes and your heart. And on that day you will know where to find me. And I will be there._

Adam had not expected, had not hoped that that day would come, but here he was.

Approaching the front desk, the concierge greeted him with a welcoming smile.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” he said. “How may I help you?”

Adam returned the smile.

“Good afternoon,” he returned. “Adam Towers, I think there has been made a reservation in my name? Or maybe someone is awaiting me?”

The concierge, a young man with a thin mustache that looked like he belonged into a film noir, checked in his computer, scrolled through something, while Adam started to frown. Maybe he had understood something wrong after all.

“Ah, here we have it,” the concierge then though smiled and pulled a key card from the drawer beneath the desk. “Have a nice stay in our house, Sir.”

Adam again returned the smile and nodded once, looking at the key.

Room number 405.

He blinked at the keycard.

“Is that the right key?” He asked, which was a stupid question because why would the concierge give him a wrong key, and he rolled his eyes inwardly at himself.

“Of course, Sir,” the concierge gave back, a little stunned by his question.

“Don’t mind me,” he laughed. “I’m having an important date here, and I’m a little nervous it seems.”

The other man smiled as if he knew something more.

Adam went to the elevator, noticing that in the past two years nothing had changed in the hotel, even the flowers looked like he remembered them and it felt so much like a flashback, that he had to check in the elevator’s mirror if he was not dreaming. But no. This was not the Adam Towers he had been two years ago. This was him now.

Again, he looked at the keycard. And it still said 405.

He giggled at the memory and the significance of this, and left the elevator on his floor with a bright smile, walking down the hallway with a bounce in his step, but in front of the door he hesitated, looking at the silver numbers that told him that he had arrived at his destination.

He knocked.

Knocked again when no reaction came.

And then he remembered that he had a key for the suite and opened the door himself.

To his surprise and disappointment, the suite was dark.

His mouth moved into a disappointed frown, he entered the room and turned on the lights, and his eyes widened in surprise.

An ice bucket was waiting on a side table, containing a bottle of what turned out to be very expensive champagne when he pulled it out to inspect it, two glasses next to it. But no sign of the man he had hoped to meet here.

Sighing, he put his bag into the bedroom and took off his coat, but not the scarf.

And then he turned out the light and sat down in one of the fluffy armchairs, waiting. Since the ice in the bucket had not turned to water yet, whoever had put it there had not left long ago, and would probably be back rather sooner than later.

And indeed, only a few minutes later, the door opened, and Adam held his breath. The silhouette he saw there was one he would always recognize, for the rest of his life.

Jean was wearing a very deep frown when he turned on the light, himself wearing black as well, and then he turned towards the room and froze.

“You are already here,” Jean said.

“Observant as always,” Adam chuckled. “And hello to you too.”

Adam got up and closed the distance between them with few steps, welcoming that Jean took him into his arms and kissed him, leaning then their foreheads against each other.

“You found me,” Adam whispered.

“I did.”

They kissed again, and Adam looked up into Jean’s eyes.

“Does that mean what I think it means?”

Jean did not reply.

This was not working the way Adam wanted it too, and a little stunned he watched how Jean took off his coat and put it onto one chair.

“Adam,” he said when he turned back around.

“Why did you want me to come here?” Adam asked, getting more and more nervous with every second. Something was wrong, something was not like it had been before. Something had changed.

“You read the letter.”

“I have, yes. You found me.”

Jean nodded.

“Where have you just been? Had to overthrow a government? Get a politician killed? Sold some weapons or drugs or maybe some virgins?”

“I had to pick something up.”

“Uh huh.”

Jean went closer again and took Adam’s hand in his.

“Are you interviewing me?” Jean asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I had to do none of those things. I had gotten something for you, but it was unfinished. Only when I arrived here I realized what the right way was to finish it.”

Adam’s brows were knit together, curiosity in overdrive and still he was scared to ask what Jean was talking about.

But then, Jean pulled a box from his pocket and put it into Adam’s hand, whose eyes widened, while Jean had him and Adam hold the box together.

The heart in Adam’s chest seemed to jump out of his chest.

“What…?” He whispered, and then took the box and opened it.

He could not breathe.

He forgot how to breathe.

In the small box, on a piece of grey silk laid a platinum ring. Simple. Elegant. And still with the three subtle rows of metal a little refined. In the front, in the open space, was a floating diamond, at least Adam assumed it was a diamond. He took the ring out and looked closer at it. It was beautiful, and on the inside it had a short engraving. Three number. 405.

Adam blinked and put the ring back into the box and closed it.

“Adam…,” Jean started, sounding insecure.

“You want to marry me?” Adam interrupted him.

Jean could not help but roll his eyes. Not even not the smaller man could shut up and let him finish.

“Yes,” he sighed.

“Why?” Adam asked, the eyes that of the journalist and not those of the young man that had won over Jean’s heart.

“So you won’t run away again.”

Adam was surprised at his words, not at all those he had expected to hear.

“I did not run, Jean,” he said, his hand balling a fist around the ringbox.

“Yes, Adam. You did.”

Adam was growing impatient, and he was growing annoyed.

“Maybe you should have tried to stop me.”

“Would you have stayed?” Jean returned without missing a second.

It was the younger man’s turn to roll his eyes.

“No,” he said. How he hated that jean was right. “Let’s try this again. Why do you want to marry me?”

Jean looked at him. The seconds that passed felt like hours, like an eternity. Something was going on in Jean’s eyes. He looked at Adam, was looking for something, while Adam continued to stare at him, waiting for what he had to say and hoping, praying for the right words. He made a few steps away from Jean towards the balcony door and looked outside, holding the box in his hands.

“Because I love you.”

“You love me,” Adam said, turning around. No question asked. Just a statement, as it the information had not reached his brain.

“I do.”

“You. Love. Me.”

“That is what I said.”

Adam nodded. Stepped closer.

“You love me.”

Jean raised a brow.

Adam stepped more close, their chests meeting. He looked up at Jean, a smile on his face.

“You love me.”

“And you love me.”

Adam nodded.

Slowly a smile appeared on Jean’s face.

A smile Adam had not seen before on him.

An honest and true smile. Not the smile of Le Chiffre.

The smile of Jean Duran.

“Yes,” Adam said. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”


End file.
